The Granger Feint
by MaryRoyale
Summary: The Ministry of Magic is recovering from the Wizarding War. Fines? Most families can deal with those. Threatening to make former Death Eaters wards of the state with the Ministry in control of their vaults? Not so much. Marcus Flint and Adrian Pucey decide to take a gamble and enlist the biggest champion of underdogs they know. Will she accept their unlikely proposal? AdMarcMione
1. An Unlikely Proposal

_**A/N:** So this is sort of a Marriage Law fic. Kind of. A bit. It is also Adrian Pucey/Hermione Granger/Marcus Flint. If you think you might like this triad in a sort of Marriage Law fic, please continue. If you are violently opposed to Marriage Law stories, triads, Slytherins, Marcus, Hermione, or Adrian-may I direct you to the other eleventy billion HP stories on this site? Perhaps one of them might be more to your liking. There is a clever little button with an arrow pointing to the left that will let you leave this page. _

**_If you know me already:_** _Hello_ _, my darlings. I've missed you, too. This last year was a genuine struggle for me as an author. I'm trying, I really am. I think I'm finally back in an okay place. I have plans for Arx. No promises, but plans. Please be the wonderful, amazing people I know you to be. Sometimes, working on something else helps me work on the thing I'm stuck on._

* * *

Private Wizarding Clubs like Serpens Lacum had been around for centuries. Stately buildings that lacked any sign or other designation that stood on discreet side streets of Diagon Alley. After the war, they had become a refuge of a sort for quite a few young wizards, causing their numbers to swell in an unprecedented fashion.

"We have a problem," Blaise announced grimly.

The other wizards seated at the table, former Housemates all, exchanged uneasy glances.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked in a quiet voice that didn't carry past their table.

Blaise snorted and rolled his eyes. "Well, not _you_ , but the rest of us, anyway."

"What are you talking about?" Theo asked with a pinched expression.

Worry drifted over the table's occupants and all of them unconsciously leaned in.

"The Ministry is going to pass a new piece of legislation," Blaise explained. He grimaced and shook his head. "They've shoved it in with a load of war reparations."

"What is it now," Greg asked with a frown. "More fines?"

"No," Theo replied looking from Blaise to Draco with a small frown. "If it were fines, that would affect Draco just as it would the rest of us."

Blaise gave Theo a tight smile. "Such a clever lad."

"What is it?" Theo demanded.

"Apparently the fines weren't enough. The Ministry is haemorrhaging galleons trying to repair the damage done to Diagon Alley and paying reparations to Muggleborns wrongfully imprisoned in Azkaban," Blaise explained. He swallowed and rubbed a hand over his face. "They're talking about seizing defunct families' estates and Gringott's accounts."

"I had heard about that," Draco offered from his seat. He rubbed a hand over his chin. "But if they want the Lestranges' bank account, what does that have to do with us?"

"There's more," Theo guessed.

"Apparently someone in the Ministry is greedy," Blaise muttered. He sighed and shook his head. "They've added a few lines. Since Death Eaters can't be trusted, any unmarried Death Eater—regardless of age—will be listed as a ward of the Ministry and will have his or her estate managed by the Ministry. They will, of course, subtract a fee for this service."

"Of course," echoed bitterly around the table in a small chorus.

"That's why Draco is exempt?" Greg asked curiously. "Because he married Astoria as soon as she graduated?"

"That and because she's not Marked. The spouse can manage the estate if he or she can prove that they are not a Death Eater," Blaise added.

"Fuck me," Theo muttered. He glowered at the table for a moment and then he looked up at the rest of them. "We have to tell the others."

/\/\/\/\/\

Being an early riser had always stood Hermione in good stead. She usually woke up at 5:30 am whether she wanted to or not. She would rise, shower, dress and have a cup of tea whilst looking over her schedule for the day. It had worked well at Hogwarts and continued to do so now that she was an adult with a job and responsibilities.

The pounding on Hermione's front door was not part of her normal morning routine. She paused, cup of tea halfway to her mouth, and reached out grasping her wand tightly in her fingers. She put down her tea, wincing at the dull chink of cup against saucer, and pushed away from the table. Silently, she crept toward the door.

The pounding stopped and sounds of a muffled argument drifted through the door. Hermione frowned at her door. Who could be here this early? Harry or any of the Weasleys would have just come through the Floo. Hermione shifted nervously from foot to foot and the pounding started again.

"Okay, relax," she muttered under her breath.

It wasn't as thought Death Eaters were lurking outside her door, lying in wait for her or something. Crookshanks had probably annoyed Mr. Trimble again and he wanted to complain about it. Again. Hermione gripped the doorknob and turned it, pulling it open.

Standing in her doorway was Marcus Flint with one large fist raised, Adrian Pucey hovering just behind him. Hermione stared at them for a moment.

"I was wrong," she said in surprise.

"I beg your pardon?" Pucey asked, peering at her over Flint's shoulder.

Both wizards took a step back when Hermione's wand came up and her eyes narrowed at them.

"What do you want?" She demanded.

"Oh, look, erm, we just want to talk," Pucey blurted out.

Flint frowned at that. "No we don't," he protested.

"Yes, Marcus, we do," Pucey hissed out of the side of his mouth. He turned back to Hermione and gave her a blindingly brilliant smile, turning the full force of his charm on her.

"But, you said that-," Flint tried to argue again.

"Shut up, Marcus," Pucey snapped; his charm slipping. He turned back to Hermione and sighed. "I don't suppose we could come in?"

"No." Hermione raised her wand slightly and watched the wary respect in Flint's and Pucey's eyes.

"Have you heard anything about the latest war reparations legislation?" Pucey asked her in a carefully neutral voice that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

"I looked over a copy that Harry sent my way," she admitted.

Technically, there was no need for someone who worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to nose around the DMLE, but Harry and Hermione were too paranoid to _not_ pay attention to what the Ministry got up to anymore; even if Kingsley had done his best to clear out the corruption and cronyism from every department of the Ministry, they still worried.

"See anything interesting?" Pucey prompted her.

"Is this about the estate seizures?" Hermione asked with a frown. "It's only for defunct families. As far as I know, you could try and claim through a maternal line as long as you promise to produce an heir to the family."

Flint and Pucey exchanged a surprised glance at that.

"That's… good information to have," Pucey said after a moment. "No, I meant the sub-clause to that section."

"There was no sub-clause," Hermione argued, her frown deepening.

"There is now," Flint rumbled at her. "Show her, Ade."

A roll of parchment was summarily shoved in her face and Hermione automatically took it from them. She unrolled the parchment, scanning ahead to the section that Pucey had mentioned. There it was… a new sub-clause. Hermione's brow wrinkled and she re-read the sub-clause several times.

"This is…," Hermione looked up from the parchment to look at Flint and Pucey who were both watching her grimly.

"Now can we come in?" Flint asked.

"I think maybe you'd better," Hermione agreed. She moved back from the door to let them enter.

Both wizards wandered in to her flat, looking around with undisguised curiosity. Hermione led them into the kitchen and checked the kettle to see how hot the water was.

"We want you to marry us," Flint announced.

The kettle fell to the floor, and scalding water splashed Hermione's legs. She gasped, jumping back and Pucey had his wand out, casting healing charms on her.

"What happened to 'let's ease her into the idea,' Flint?" Pucey demanded.

"You showed her the law," Flint pointed out with a shrug.

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione said faintly.

"You're not a Death Eater," Flint said.

"Well spotted," Hermione retorted with a snort, trying to figure out where they were going with this.

"We need somebody that won't rob the family vaults," Pucey tried to explain. He ran a distracted hand through his hair.

"Somebody fair," Flint added.

"I understand that part," Hermione snapped. She waved a hand at the both of them. "But why are you here?"

"Look, Granger, everyone knows that you're a proper Gryffindor: brave and noble and all that rot. Just… pretend we're House Elves or something," Pucey told her. The muscle in his jaw jumped and he moved to stand next to Flint.

"I… _what_?" Hermione wondered if it were possible that she was hallucinating or dreaming. "Why not go find somebody in your set? Some pureblood witch."

"We don't want a pureblood witch," Flint rumbled at her with a scowl. "We need someone like you."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" Hermione growled, gripping her wand again.

Pucey sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.

"What he's trying to say is that we need someone who will be honest and fair with our respective estates. Someone who will ask our input and take our advice about how we want them handled. Someone that will fight for us if the Ministry tries to interfere," Pucey explained.

"That's what I said," Flint muttered.

"I don't think that-," Hermione began only for Pucey to take a step toward her and reach out with one hand.

"Please, Granger," he said quietly.

"What do you want me to do?" Hermione asked. A dull throbbing had begun behind her left eye and she rubbed at her temple absently.

"Marry us," Flint repeated.

"What," Hermione scoffed aloud. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," Flint said. He frowned at her. "Did you want us to court you? Ade says that we don't have time to do that. He said that you're a Gryffindor and that-," Pucey's hand clapped over Flint's mouth abruptly cut off Flint's spate of words.

"We don't really have time for protracted courting," Pucey explained. He glared at Flint before removing his hand. "Granger, we need to get married as soon as we can. If we aren't married before this legislation goes into effect…"

"We're fucked," Flint muttered.

Pucey's shoulders slumped. "Marcus may be a bit blunt, but he's right. The Ministry would strip our vaults bare before we managed to snag another witch."

"How does that even work?" Hermione asked. She looked from Flint to Pucey and back to Flint. "You two don't even know me."

"You're Hermione Granger," Flint informed her with a confused expression. He turned to look at Pucey and they had a mostly silent exchange that involved eyebrows and a couple grunts, mostly on Flint's end.

"I don't mean that," Hermione told him with a sigh. She looked at both wizards and put her hands on her hips. "What I mean is that you don't _know_ me. What is my favourite colour? How do I like my tea? You don't know me at all."

"We know enough," Flint retorted. He scowled at her and she fought the urge to take a step back from his menacing expression. "We know the important parts. All of your legislation in the DCRMC has been to protect groups that have been treated unfairly: House Elves, Centaurs, Werewolves."

"You are known for being unfailingly fair and just, Granger," Pucey added. He gave her a strained smile. "That's why Marcus and I picked you."

Of all the reasons that someone could have given for choosing her… Hermione never would have expected to hear that it was because she was _fair_. She had wondered if Pucey would try to tell her it was because she was stunningly beautiful. _She knew she wasn't_. Or if Marcus might tell her it was because she was part of the Golden Trio. _Which, all right, she was_.

It was just possible that either Hermione had lost what little grip on reality she retained, or she had somehow slipped into an alternate reality, because she honestly considered Pucey's and Flint's proposal. She had a sudden urge to snicker, but she managed to control herself.

A political marriage to two former Death Eaters to help shield them from the Ministry. Right. Just another Thursday then. The dull throbbing behind Hermione's eye grew stronger and she shook her head, trying to clear it.

"Wait," Pucey said urgently and there was a hint of desperation in his voice that made Hermione squirm with discomfort. He reached out to grab her hand and she automatically moved away from him. He let his hand fall and turned to look at Flint.

"According to the law, we can't conduct business," Flint rumbled at her. He waited for a minute and then scowled at her. "That means you would be sitting in the Wizengamot for the Houses of Flint and Pucey."

"As long as you protect our estates, you can support whatever crusade you want," Pucey added.

"A seat on the Wizengamot," Hermione whispered slowly as plans and strategies began to unfurl themselves in her mind's eye. Things she had wanted to do, but couldn't. Suddenly, the impossible seemed probable.

Perhaps marrying Marcus Flint and Adrian Pucey wasn't the most ludicrous idea ever. Still… Hermione couldn't help but wonder about, well, _everything_. She stood there in her kitchen for several minutes trying to wrap her brain around everything that was happening.

"What do you say, Granger?" Flint blurted out. When Pucey turned to glare at him, Flint turned red and shrugged helplessly.

"How would this work, exactly," Hermione asked at last. Her brow wrinkled and she looked from Pucey to Flint. "I mean, this is… you're asking me to… what _are_ you asking me to do?

"We're not asking you to… Merlin, this is harder than I thought it would be," Pucey groaned. He set his jaw and glared at her. "We may be Death Eater bastards, but we can be gentlemen."

"Right," Hermione said slowly.

"It will have to look real to the Ministry, but it's not like they're going to make us shag in front of them," Flint grumbled with a hint of frustration.

The desperation of both wizards was unsettling. Hermione couldn't even imagine being in their position—being forced by the Ministry to marry or have their assets plundered. It was awful, really. So horribly unfair.

An easy smile stretched Pucey's rather full lips as he beamed at her. Suddenly, she was being pulled into Flint's giant, solid arms and being hugged tightly.

"Thank you." He rumbled at her.

Flint's chest vibrated against her cheek. Hermione pulled back and frowned up at him.

"What are you thanking me for?" She demanded.

"You've got your Gryffindor face on," Pucey told her with a smirk. He had the temerity to rub his hands together. "The Ministry will never know what hit it."


	2. Gretna Green

_**A/N:**_ _Surprise! A Happy Birthday to NorthernLights25 who has been a long-time reader and a faithful reviewer. Luckily, this was already done. So here—an extra chapter!_

 _A big thank you goes out to Auntie_L (who is sheer perfection) and my Falcons (whom I love to distraction). They are always willing to listen and suggest and tell me when I've dropped the Quaffle. I adore you guys._

* * *

Amazingly enough, despite Hermione's hectic, surreal morning, she wasn't late to work. She managed to slide into her desk at five minutes to nine. The spot behind her eye was still throbbing and she was absently rubbing her temple while she sorted through her inbox.

A steaming mug was placed on Hermione's desk. She looked up in surprise to see Luna watching her carefully.

"What's this then?" Hermione asked, eyeing the mug with caution.

"That's tea," Luna replied. She pulled a wreath-looking thing out from behind her back. " _This_ will help with everything else."

Hermione stared at the wreath-thing in undisguised horror.

"I'll just take a calming draught and some pain potion," Hermione muttered.

"That might take care of your headache," Luna agreed. Then she pursed her lips and tilted her head. "But it won't take care of your Blibbering Humdingers."

"Look, Luna," Hermione began with a tired sigh.

"Granger, you're here," Blaise Zabini said as he swept into their office, his bright smile a flash of blinding white.

"Good morning, Zabini," Hermione replied as he drew nearer her desk.

"Have you ever considered having your aura scrubbed?" Luna asked him with a small frown.

"What?" Zabini blinked at her in surprise.

"It's a bit dull in places," Luna continued calmly.

"I beg your pardon?" Zabini's chest puffed up and he scowled at Luna. "I didn't come about my aura."

"Pity," Luna murmured.

Zabini huffed and turned to look at Hermione.

Wariness filled Hermione and she frowned at Zabini who worked for the Department of Magical Games and Sports. There was almost no interaction between their departments except in cases like the World Cup or the Triwizard Tournament where Magical Creatures might need a passport or documentation. Zabini here, _now_ , after the morning that she'd had… was beyond suspicious.

"Zabini," she said flatly. He rallied and bestowed a dazzlingly smile at her.

"You're looking as lovely as ever," Zabini purred at her. "Are you free for lunch? I have a project I'd like to share with you."

"Regrettably, I am not free." Hermione attempted to give him a smile that she hoped conveyed her sincere regret, but judging by his expression she had failed.

"It's rather important, Granger," Zabini said.

"I'm sure that it is," Hermione agreed. She was willing to bet that Zabini felt that it was important.

"Perhaps after work then?" Zabini tried. "There's a charming bistro that just opened up. We could talk after dinner."

Hermione frowned at Zabini. "Look, Zabini, I've already made plans for this evening. Let me look at my calendar and I'll see if I can give you some time next week."

"No," Zabini huffed in frustration. "This is time sensitive; it can't wait until next week."

A horrible, awful thought occurred to Hermione. Surely Zabini _couldn't_ be interested in the same thing that Flint and Pucey had wanted from her. She'd already given her word to them.

"I'm having lunch with Flint and Pucey," she blurted out.

The way Zabini sort of deflated was the realization of Hermione's fears.

"Oh." Zabini straightened his cuffs and gave her a stiff little bow. "Sorry to waste your time."

It was shock that kept Hermione in her seat. She watched him leave the room and turned worried eyes to Luna who held out the wreath-thing silently. Hermione sighed and jammed it onto her head, wearing it like an arboreal crown. At this point, Hermione was willing to take any help offered. Luna beamed at her.

"What should we do?" Hermione demanded.

"That should work," Luna replied.

"No." Hermione waved a hand in gesture of frustration. "I meant, what should we do about Zabini?"

"I thought you didn't want to help him," Luna countered.

"I do, but I can't help him the way he wants me to help him," Hermione muttered. "I mean, there has to be some sort of limit or something. I can't marry _everyone_."

"The timetables would be problematic," Luna agreed.

Hermione groaned and put her head on her desk. "This is ridiculous."

"The Ministry often is," Luna murmured soothingly and stroked Hermione's hair.

* * *

A small buzz, the merest hint of an undercurrent really, but it was enough to make Flint and Pucey look up from their conversation. They locked eyes on her and both wizards stared at her for a moment. Flint and Pucey rose to their feet as she drew near.

"Granger," Flint greeted her.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with us on such short notice," Adrian added.

"I assumed that if I didn't you might enact a repeat of this morning," Hermione muttered at them.

Both wizards flushed and cleared their throats. Flint moved and held out a chair for her. She sat down carefully. They were staring again.

"What?" She hissed as quietly as she could.

Adrian's wand appeared in his hand and he flicked it in a series of graceful movements.

"There," he announced with satisfaction. "We'll be able to speak privately now."

"What in the bloody hell are you wearing?" Flint asked. He stared at her forehead with a frown.

Hermione's fingers crept up her forehead and brushed the wreath-thing that Luna had given her. She could feel her face heat up and she carefully took the wreath off and set it on the chair next to her. It had worked well enough for the morning, but Hermione didn't like the idea of wearing it for the foreseeable future.

"It kept people away," Hermione explained with a sigh.

"What people?" Pucey asked.

"Everyone," Flint muttered, eyeing the wreath warily.

"How soon can we do this thing?" Hermione demanded.

Flint and Pucey exchanged an uneasy look and then turned back to Hermione.

"We wanted to discuss that with you," Pucey said.

"Ade got a special license," Flint added.

"A special license?" Hermione repeated suddenly feeling as though she were a character in one of her mum's novels.

Pucey flushed and shrugged. "Time is of the essence," he muttered.

Unspoken between the three of them was Flint's and Pucey's almost palpable anxiety. Hermione realized that they were afraid that she would back out—that she would leave them flat. Her chin rose automatically.

"I gave my word," Hermione told them in a brittle voice that made both wizards shift in their chairs and duck their heads.

"I beg your pardon," Adrian said and made a half-bow in her direction. "There is the Ministry to consider as well. They've had secret sessions before where they passed unpopular legislation. I'm sorry, Granger, but we can't afford to wait."

"When?" Hermione whispered.

"Tonight," Flint said. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I've got someone who owes me a favour. They're going to stay late and do it."

"Tonight." Hermione was glad that she was sitting down because a wave of dizziness swept over her and she swayed in her seat. A vision popped into her head of riding in a carriage in the middle of the night, and Flint and Pucey dressed like Regency Corinthians. "We aren't going to Gretna Green, are we?"

Flint frowned at her. "We could. Doesn't matter where we do it, as long as a ministry official witnesses our oaths."

"If you wish to marry at this Gretna Green it will be arranged," Pucey added. He flashed another of his charming smiles, but Hermione could see the uncertainty in his eyes.

"It's fine," Hermione told them and smiled weakly. "I'm sure whatever you had planned is fine. I was just... it was a joke."

An obsequious server was hovering behind Pucey's elbow. He raised his wand and released the privacy charm. It was a nice piece of magic, and Hermione wondered if he would teach it to her. After they ordered, the server bowed deeply and left them alone.

"Marcus' contact will file the marriage immediately afterwards," Pucey murmured as quietly as he could. His fingers seemed to tighten on the stem of his wineglass. "The _Daily Prophet_ will probably publish something in the afternoon edition. Their society reporter practically camps out in the marriage office."

Hermione snorted derisively and then flushed when several people looked her way. She looked at Pucey with wide eyes.

"I beg your pardon," she whispered. Pucey shook his head at her and cast his privacy spell again.

"We only have a few minutes until the food comes," Pucey told her urgently. He paused and then looked at Flint.

"We have to make it look real," Flint explained. He looked at his hands and then he looked at her. "You have to... you have to let us touch you in public."

"Touch me in public?" Hermione's voice rose sharply and she was glad of the privacy charm. "I thought you said we _didn't_ have to shag in front of the Ministry."

Pucey flinched and shook his head. "No! Marcus means... well, we'll have to touch your back, or you'll have to take his arm or my arm when you're on the street. Things like that."

"Purebloods aren't big on public displays of affection," Flint told her gravely. "No kissing, hugging, or fondling. Not even hand holding, really. Just try not to cringe if I give you my arm or Ade touches your shoulder."

"I'll try," Hermione muttered.

"Thank you," Pucey said in a quiet voice. He cleared his throat and turned to her. "Truly, Granger. Thank you."

Hermione sputtered for a minute and flushed with embarrassment. "I would do it for anybody," she protested.

"You might have done it for anybody," Pucey countered with a slight smirk. "But we got to you first."

"And now you're ours," Flint added smugly.

The anxious flutter that had been in Hermione's belly grew stronger and her palms grew moist. She hadn't really thought this through. This was... this was _marriage_. This was permanent, especially in the wizarding world.

Merlin's beard, what had she done?

"Relax, Granger, you look as though you are about to pass out," Pucey chided her.

"I...," The words caught in Hermione's throat and Flint reached out carefully, cautiously, to touch her hand.

"You honour us with your trust," Flint told her solemnly. "We will do nothing to betray that trust."

"Promise?" Hermione's voice was embarrassingly shaky, but she couldn't help herself.

"Tonight," Adrian told her. His gaze flicked about the room and then settled back on Hermione.

Oddly enough... she believed him.

* * *

The war had taken from everyone. Some more than most. All Hermione had left of her parents was her mother's wedding gown. She had kept it carefully preserved—wrapped and folded and held in a small trunk in her bag during the war. She'd always imagined... well... not this. Still, it was her once chance to wear it. Magic helped her do up the buttons. Several bottles of Sleekeazy helped her with her hair.

For several long minutes Hermione stared at herself in the mirror.

White lace covered her from neck to ankle. The sleeves were loose and flowing until they were gathered into a tight cuff at the wrist. The lines of the gown itself were vaguely reminiscent of witches' gowns, but Hermione didn't think she'd ever seen one with an empire waist. She turned about carefully and hoped that this would be all right; that _all_ of this would be all right—the dress, the wedding, and this ridiculous plan of Flint's and Pucey's.

"You can do this," she whispered to her reflection.

Her reflection looked rather doubtful.

"It's... they _need_ you. If you don't help them, the Ministry is going to exact legislation that will send us straight back into war in another 20 or 30 years, and with your magical lifespan, you'll probably be around for that," Hermione told herself sternly. Her reflection appeared unmoved. Hermione's shoulders slumped.

"It's _wrong_ ," she tried finally.

Her reflection scowled back at her, indignation writ across her features. "Right. So...," Hermione trailed off. She lifted her chin and nodded. She could do this.

Opening her bag, she pulled out the Portkey that Flint had handed to her that afternoon and activated it. She was deposited in a small clearing where Flint and Pucey were both pacing back and forth and arguing quietly with one another. They both stopped as soon as they saw her, and the stark relief on each wizard's face made her heart clench in her chest.

They quickly escorted her down a path, and Hermione was shocked to see that they were actually in Gretna Green. They had taken her seriously.

"I was joking," she protested weakly.

"I know this probably wasn't what you had planned," Adrian replied. He glanced around the small village curiously. "But we wanted to try and accommodate you as much as we could."

"Why here?" Flint asked.

"It's a Muggle thing," Hermione muttered.

"Okay." Flint looked around and then back to Hermione. "But why did you choose it?"

"It's... it's a famous site for... for unusual marriages. People that had to get married in a hurry, or they had to come here because their parents wouldn't give their permission, or they were too young to get married in England or Wales," Hermione explained in a rush. She twisted her nerveless fingers in the lace of her mother's gown.

"Makes sense," Flint said slowly. He looked over her dress with an inscrutable expression. "Pretty robes. Those special, too?"

"It was my mother's wedding dress," Hermione replied. She shifted nervously. "It was such short notice, and I-," she stopped when Pucey held up a hand.

"You look lovely," he told her gently and flashed her one of his charming smiles. He held out his arm with his elbow crooked. "Ready?"

Was she ready? Hermione fought the urge to break out in hysterical laughter. Instead, she took Pucey's proffered elbow and let him lead her toward a little building that stood apart from the others. She noticed the faint shimmer around the edges of the building that told her it was under glamour.

Inside the building a giant anvil held pride of place in the centre of the room. A huge mountain of a man that made Flint look underfed and gangly and a tall, brawny woman stood next to the anvil. Next to him stood a wizard in Ministry robes and Hermione assumed that this was Flint's contact.

"Are we ready?" The official asked. "The smithy and his wife have offered to stand in as witnesses."

"Thank you," Flint rumbled at the smith who nodded in reply.

"Have you decided which vows you wish to take?" The official asked Flint.

" _Pace nuptias_ ," Pucey answered before Flint could. The official turned to Pucey in surprise and then looked back at Flint who just shrugged.

"Are you willing to enter into a _pace nuptias_ with these two wizards?" The official asked Hermione.

"I… that wasn't listed among the options," Hermione observed and looked to Pucey for an explanation.

"It's legal," Flint offered. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Doesn't get used much anymore. It was used in political matches that settled feuds… or wars."

"There's a safety spell threaded through it," Pucey explained. "If I were to try and hurt you, I would receive the pain back doubled. Same for Marcus."

"And for me as well?" Hermione questioned.

"It's an egalitarian spell," Flint told her with a shrug.

"What if someone else hurts me," Hermione asked with a frown.

"The spell will help you—it will share your pain between all three of us," Pucey told her. He gave her another one of his charming smiles. "It was meant to dissuade people from destroying the new wrought peace, and to protect the symbols of the peace."

"This is what you meant?" Hermione asked and looked at the both of them. "This is how you'll keep your promise?"

Both wizards nodded. Hermione considered that for a moment. What the official described sounded… like Hermione was participating in a political, dynastic alliance. All right, perhaps that was true. She supposed that this marriage—between the most notorious Mudblood of their world and two scions of pureblood Houses—definitely counted under those criteria.

This marriage might be the beginning of a new era for wizarding Britain. Hermione's plans weren't quite as grandiose as Voldemort's had been. She wasn't planning on taking over the whole country. Just… changing it a little. She wondered what the social and political ramifications of a _pace nuptias_ might be. Maybe a girl's night with Ginny and Luna was in order.

"Huh." Flint frowned at her thoughtfully.

"What are you thinking," Pucey asked her with a curious glint in his ice blue eyes.

Hermione smiled blandly at Pucey and patted him on the arm. Then she turned to the official.

"I'll do it," she said firmly.

 _ **End Note:** Pace nuptias translates loosely as "Marriage of Peace". In the books, Hermione calls herself a Mudblood at specific, important points. It always makes Harry and others uncomfortable, but Hermione is usually taking back her own power in those scenes. She's looking at her situation the way an outsider-a random witch or wizard in wizarding Britain-might view it. That's why she refers to herself as notorious as opposed to famous or well-known. _


	3. An Unlikely Wedding

_A/N: Ancient mythology and folklore is regrettably filled with horrifying behaviour. I do not excuse any of that (I'm looking at you, Zeus). However, I would remind you that most myths are unfortunately vague and use euphemisms that might have more than one meaning. It may mean exactly what it says, or it might not. In addition to that, in one myth Herakles is the beloved of Hera and acts rather like a champion on her behalf. In another myth, she tries to have him murdered as a baby. It depends on_ _ **who**_ _is telling the myth and_ _ **who**_ _is the audience for the myth._

 _I have absolutely no impulse control. Either that or I'm so excited and happy to be able to write *anything* that I've gotten carried away._

* * *

The legends linking smithies and magic were rather vague. Hermione had read one or two in her library excursions, but nothing had prepared her for what she saw that night. Everyone in the room: Flint, Pucey, the Ministry official, the smith, and his wife all turned their attention to the great anvil and stone in the centre of the room.

The smith's wife moved forward, chanting in a language that Hermione suspected might be a craft secret among smiths. Sigils on the great stone began to glow brighter and brighter. Then the smith began to chant in the same language and sigils upon the anvil began to glow, too. They turned to the Ministry official and nodded to him; he cleared his throat and turned to Hermione. Flint and Pucey moved so that they flanked her.

"Hinc colligimus partes ad nuptias," The official began. He continued in Latin. "Hermione, daughter of Magic, do you enter this marriage of your own free will?"

" _Volo_ ," Hermione agreed, and if her voice was a little shaky no one blamed her for that.

"You have not given any previous oaths or promises that forfeit any promise made here and now?" The official asked her with a stern expression.

"I have not," Hermione swore.

"Do you speak for the House of Granger?" The official asked.

Hermione paused in surprise and turned to stare at Flint.

"Political matches always involve Houses," Flint pointed out.

"Are we… does this marriage _create_ a House of Granger?" Hermione demanded in a shocked whisper.

"In a way," Pucey hissed in reply from her other side.

"Hermione, daughter of Magic, _do you speak for the House of Granger_?" The official repeated with a severe frown that he directed at all three of them.

" _Volo_ ," Hermione replied, her voice cracking.

"Will you accept the alliance offered by the Houses of Flint and Pucey?" The official asked.

" _Volo_ ," She agreed.

The official turned to Flint and repeated the initial questions—determining if he had the freedom and agency to enter into a dynastic marriage. Finally, it was Pucey's turn to swear that he was not previously promised and that he spoke for his House. The entire anvil glowed briefly before returning to its previous state, the sigils burning brightly with magic against the cold iron of the anvil.

"This marriage will create a treaty of understanding between the Houses of Flint, Granger, and Pucey," The official intoned solemnly. "Where before there was mistrust and doubt, now let these Houses learn of one another and sow the seeds of trust. Where before there was anger and prejudice, now let these Houses understand one another. May love and peace grow between these Houses, and may that peace spread to the wizarding world as a whole."

"So mote it be," the three of them murmured together.

With another glance at the three of them, the official turned so that he was facing Hermione. Flint and Pucey both pulled out their wands and carefully set the tips so that they were touching the anvil; Hermione followed suit.

"Do you, Hermione, accept Marcus and Adrian as your husbands, forever uniting the Houses of Flint, Granger, and Pucey?" The official asked.

" _Volo_." Hermione stared as the tip of her wand glowed.

Sparks of red and gold showered the anvil and it glowed in response to Hermione's magic. Then the official turned to Pucey.

"Do you, Adrian, accept Hermione as your wife, forever uniting the House of Pucey to that of Granger?" The official asked.

" _Volo_ ," Pucey swore with a confidence that Hermione envied.

"And do you further accept Marcus as your _consors_ in marriage, uniting the House of Pucey to that of Flint?" The official continued.

Pucey turned slightly and exchanged a brief glance with Flint before turning back to the official. " _Volo_ ," he replied.

The tip of Pucey's wand glowed and eddies of silver and green magic swirled about the anvil, which glowed in response just as it had to Hermione's vow. The official nodded in satisfaction and then turned to Flint.

"Do you, Marcus, accept Hermione as your wife, forever uniting the House of Flint to that of Granger?" The official asked.

" _Volo_ ," Flint swore.

"And do you further accept Adrian as your _consors_ in marriage, uniting the House of Flint to that of Pucey?" The official looked up from his book. Flint's fingers seemed to tighten on his wand before he replied.

" _Volo_." His reply was quiet… almost subdued.

Where Pucey's magic had appeared to move in eddies, Flint's moved in currents. Silver and green wrapped around the anvil in a caress of magic and the anvil glowed for a third time.

Each time, Hermione had felt a strange tug in her chest. She had a feeling that it was her magic responding to her vows and to the vows that Flint and Pucey had each made to her. The part of her that was always curious that always wondered, wished that there was a way to examine her magic and see how the vows had altered it, but the rest of her focused on the moment.

Magic swelled in the room, surrounding all of them, pressing in on them, and Hermione almost felt overwhelmed by it. It had not felt like this when she had attended the wedding of Bill and Fleur; perhaps because she had not been a participant? She would ask Flint and Pucey later.

"May Magic bless this union," the official finished.

"So Mote it be," the three of them murmured in reply.

"Very good," the official said with a sharp nod for all of them. "I'll just make sure that this is filed with the Ministry." He gave a deep, respectful bow to the smith and his wife. "Thank you for blessing us with your presence."

With a sharp _crack_ of Apparition, the official disappeared.

At that point, the smith and his wife stepped forward again. Both of them began to chant again, and Hermione felt the magic in the room respond to them. The smith had a hammer in his hand that glowed with magic. His wife moved her hands in complicated pattern and then she _pulled_ a thread of magic from the anvil. She pulled two more threads and handed them to her husband. Between the two of them they braided the threads of magic and then the smith struck his hammer to the threads.

When the smith was finally done, three gleaming bracelets lay on the anvil. His wife stepped forward and gestured to Hermione.

"Come," she called and Hermione felt compelled to step forward.

"Who are you?" Hermione asked before she could stop herself.

The smith's wife smiled and her eyes glinted in amusement. "I was like your husbands," she explained. She glanced toward Flint and Pucey and then turned back to Hermione. "My father was greedy… evil. My husband fought against him and defeated him, and I was given to him in marriage. Some said it was revenge for what my father wrought. "

"Was it?" Hermione bit her lip and wondered at her own audacity.

"Do not believe everything you read," the smith's wife cautioned her. "I will admit that it took him years to look at me and not see my father." She slid the bracelet over Hermione's hand and onto her wrist. The bracelet automatically resized itself. "Do not let anger rule your heart, daughter of Magic."

"I won't," Hermione promised. She stared at her bracelet and then up at the smith's wife. "What is your name?"

"Others have called me Beadohilde," the smith's wife replied coyly.

Recognition flared in Hermione and she stared in shock. Beadohilde laughed and patted her on the cheek before gently turning her so that she faced Flint and Pucey. The smith… _Wayland_ … was speaking to both of her new husbands. All three of them had solemn expressions.

"Husband," Beadohilde called.

"I bless this marriage," Wayland said in a deep, gravelly voice that spoke of centuries of bellowing in a forge. "May the bonds forged today strengthen your union."

"Thank you," Hermione whispered.

"Thank you," Flint and Pucey echoed.

"Why us, sir?" Hermione asked before she could stop herself.

Flint snorted and Pucey sighed.

"Several reasons," Wayland said. He looked to His wife and His eyes softened. "The Isles need what your union will represent, but the three of you needed Us. You needed to know that a marriage formed by necessity can still hold love and caring."

"You need to know that despite what others will say about your marriage—you three will know the truth of it, and that is all that matters," Beadohilde added with a soft smile for Her husband.

"Treat each other with respect," Wayland offered. He paused and glanced at His hands, twisting His hammer in them. "Gift one another with honesty."

"We will," Pucey said.

"We will," Hermione replied after him, and Flint's deeper voice spoke in unison with hers.

Wayland held out his hand and Beadohilde moved forward to take it. With a great flash of light, they were gone. The anvil and stone vanished, leaving Hermione, Flint, and Pucey standing on the village green.

"Is that… is that a normal part of the _pace nuptias_?" Hermione asked a little breathlessly.

"Not exactly," Flint muttered.

"There are stories of gods blessing certain unions," Pucey explained. He shook his head and sighed. "I had always assumed it was a figurative or metaphorical sort of blessing."

"Was it… is it because your House is Flint?" Hermione asked curiously, turning to look at her new husband.

"We've had one or two smiths," Flint admitted. "But that was a long time ago."

"I should go home," Hermione yawned. "I'm exhausted."

"Erm, about that," Pucey said hesitantly. "We… it would be best for us if you… if you lived with us."

"Lived with you," Hermione repeated.

"Your own suite, of course," Pucey added. He glanced at Flint and then back at her. "Maybe Flint Manor?"

"We have to make it look real," Flint reminded her. "You living in your own flat doesn't make it look real."

"Right," Hermione muttered. She chewed on her lip for a minute. "My own suite?"

"Of course," Pucey huffed. He glared at her. "You are our lady wife. Where did you think we would put you? In an attic nook?"

"All right," Hermione agreed after a moment. "We'll need to stop by my flat. I'll need to change."

"Of course," Pucey and Flint replied.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Apparating to Flint Manor had been disorienting. Since Hermione didn't know the location, Flint had been forced to Side-Along her. She stumbled, but Flint's strong arms kept her from falling on her face. A wave of nausea swept over her and Hermione fought for control. Throwing up in front of her new husbands was probably not the best way to forge an alliance.

"Gonna be sick?" Flint asked her.

"No," Hermione retorted. She took a deep breath in through her nose. "No, I'm fine."

"Good. We need to add you to the wards," Flint said. He tugged her toward an imposing-looking gate.

"This should be interesting," Pucey muttered.

"What does that mean?" Hermione demanded.

"They're blood wards," Flint explained. He frowned at her. "You should probably be the one that does it."

A carefully performed slicing hex made a shallow cut on her palm. The pain was less than she expected, but when Flint and Pucey both winced she remembered why that was. Flint scowled at her hand, and then gently took hold of her wrist. The broom callouses on Flint's palms made gooseflesh break out on her arms.

Flint's wand movements were powerful, but they were also imbued with an unexpected grace. Hermione watched as the gateposts glowed. Flint led her forward and pressed her bleeding palm to both gateposts.

"There," he said with grim satisfaction. "The wards recognize you as my wife. You'll be able to come and go whenever you want."

"Give me your hand," Pucey said and plucked her wrist from Flint's grip. He already had his wand in hand and used it to cast a healing spell on her palm. The shallow cut closed, and newly healed skin appeared. Pucey ran his thumb over her palm and nodded to himself. "Much better."

"We'll have to do it again at your place," Flint said with a scowl.

Pucey shrugged. "Yes, but not tonight."

Both wizards seemed to know exactly where they were going. They walked quickly through the darkened halls, and Hermione struggled to keep up with them. They both stopped outside a door.

"Your suite," Flint explained. He waved a hand at it. "You can change it around if you want. Plenty of stuff up in the attic to trade it out."

"Thank you," Hermione whispered.

"Just get some sleep," Pucey said with an encouraging smile. "The next few days are going to be busy."

The suite that Flint had assigned to her was like something out of a period drama. Hermione stared at the room in shock. The walls were covered in delicate peach and cream striped wallpaper. Scattered about the room were settees and chairs. In one corner was a resplendent writing desk with delicate-looking inlay. There were two doors, and Hermione moved toward the farthest one.

Inside the farthest door was what appeared to be a walk-in closet and dressing room. The room appeared empty—no robes were hung and the shelves were bare. Hermione backed out of that room and headed to the other door.

"Oh," Hermione breathed softly.

It was the sort of bedroom that she had daydreamt about as a girl. A huge four-poster bed with soft peach-coloured bed hangings stood in the centre of the room. One wall was covered in floor to ceiling bookshelves, and every 6 feet there were large bay windows with window seats where one could curl up and read. The other wall was covered in a great magical tapestry. Hermione watched as carefully embroidered creatures moved across the tapestry.

There was one final door, which revealed a well-appointed bathroom with a positively sinful tub. Living with Flint and Pucey to convince the Ministry of the veracity of their marriage was worth it for that tub alone. Hermione spent several happy minutes fantasizing about bubble baths before she performed a mouth-cleansing charm, and headed back into the bedroom. _Her_ bedroom.

Carefully, Hermione sat on the beautiful bench that was set at the foot of her bed. She took off her shoes and her stockings, and wiggled her toes in the luxuriantly plush pile of the carpet. A modest nightgown of cotton lawn lay across the bedspread. Hermione carefully took off her robes and folded them neatly on the bench. Then she put on the nightgown and turned in a circle watching the fabric swirl about her ankles.

The bed was ridiculous. Hermione had to get down on her knees and peer under the bed. There she spotted what she was looking for—a small step stool. After she managed to climb up into the thing, she collapsed back on the pillows and sighed gustily. The mattress, the pillows, the blankets themselves, all felt absolutely heavenly. She snuggled down into her bed and hummed in contentment. Pucey had been right—he and Flint might be Death Eater bastards, but they could definitely be gentlemen.

* * *

 _End Note: The Latin…_

" _Volo" means "I do." The bit that begins_

" _Hinc…" just means "we are here to join these parties in marriage."_

" _Consors" is spouse, consort, etc._


	4. Mountains To Climb

_A/N: For Auntie_L. I hope this brightens your day, at least a bit._

Dawn brought with it several surprises. Hermione woke as she always did. She slipped out of bed and moved to the bench where she'd left her robes. Sitting neatly on her bench was a set of robes, but it wasn't the set she'd left there last night. These robes were a midnight blue in Acromantula silk. Hermione didn't own anything near so fine. The one time she'd seen a gown in Acromantula silk she'd surreptitiously peeked at the price tag. Then she had immediately sat down in an inconspicuous corner and put her head between her knees and breathed deeply for several moments so that she didn't faint.

With a frown, Hermione hunted all through her rooms, including the bare walk-in closet. It was still completely bare. Hermione's robes weren't there. Hermione walked back to her room and scowled at the bench. The robes sat there innocently, and Hermione's scowl deepened.

Faint, muffled knocking caught her attention. She went out into the sitting room where the knocking grew slightly louder.

"Granger?" Pucey's muffled voice called. There was a pause and then he called out hesitantly. "Hermione?"

Hermione pulled open the door and frowned at Pucey and Flint who were both standing in her doorway. Again.

"There are robes in my bedroom," she snapped.

"Isn't that normal?" Flint asked. "Where else would you keep them?"

"No, it's… they aren't mine," Hermione explained.

Both wizards stared at her for a moment.

"There are strange robes in your bedroom… and you're upset about that," Pucey said slowly.

"My robes are missing!" Hermione hissed in frustration.

"Pebble," Flint rumbled.

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione's voice rose and she glared at Flint.

There was a loud crack and Hermione turned to see a House Elf standing in her sitting room.

"What did you do with… Hermione's things?" Flint asked.

The House Elf sniffed and looked Hermione up and down disdainfully.

"They was not the proper clothes for Mistress," Pebble informed Flint. "Pebble disposed of them and was putting proper clothes in their place. Now Mistress won't be looking like a ragamuffin."

"What?" Hermione shrieked indignantly.

Pebble turned a stern eye on Hermione and shook a slender finger at her.

"Don't even be _thinking_ about giving Pebble clothes," Pebble told her. "Pebble be knowing all about naughty Mistress."

Flint snorted and Pucey had a sudden, suspicious coughing fit. Hermione turned to glare at them both.

"I do not look like a ragamuffin," Hermione sputtered furiously.

"Mistress not be looking like Lady Flint, either," Pebble retorted.

"Fine," Hermione growled. "I'll wear the stupid robes."

"Mistress will also be letting Pebble do her hair," Pebble informed her. "Right now it be looking as though Cornish Pixies be nesting in it."

With a growl, Hermione slammed the door in Flint's and Pucey's faces and marched back to her bedroom. She whirled about and glared at the House Elf who was standing unrepentantly in her room.

"Pebble is thinking that Mistress is being perfect for Master Marcus and Master Adrian," Pebble announced calmly. She nodded to herself in satisfaction. "But if Mistress is wanting to make the Wizengamot pay attention, Mistress will have to be learning to play a part. Can Mistress be doing that?"

Hermione stared at the House Elf in shock. "I… what?"

"Pebble was being told that Mistress was being the brightest witch of her age," Pebble huffed. "House Elves at Hogwarts be _lying_ to Pebble."

"I can do it," Hermione blurted out. She sucked in a breath and sat down heavily on the bench. "I can… I can do this."

"Good," Pebble said and gave Hermione a fierce grin. "Now, Mistress be taking the robes and go be getting dressed."

The slick silk of the robes slid against Hermione's skin as she carried it into the bathroom. She set the robes on a shelf and turned to stare at herself in the mirror.

"Am I dreaming?" Hermione asked her reflection.

The mirror snickered at her. Hermione sighed.

"The next time I try to save anyone and overhaul a government, tell me to go sleep it off," Hermione muttered.

"I will, dear," the mirror assured her.

After a quick shower, Hermione slipped the robes on. The silk caressed her skin as it slipped over her head. Hermione turned in the mirror and tilted her head to the side.

"What do you think?" Hermione asked.

"Not bad at all," the mirror replied. "If only you could do something about that hair."

"Pebble has a plan for that," Hermione sighed.

"She usually does," the mirror muttered.

The House Elf in question was waiting for Hermione impatiently, tapping one foot and huffing every so often. Hermione went and sat obediently on the bench at the foot of her bed. Pebble muttered under her breath and Hermione tried to hold still.

/\/\/\/\/\

It had been fairly easy to escape to the Ministry. Hermione had stopped at a small café near the Ministry and grabbed a pastry and a cup of tea. She sat at her desk and nibbled on her pastry while she perused her copy of the _Daily Prophet_. No word yet on the Ministry's legislation. Hermione sighed in relief. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to question the legitimacy of her marriage to Flint or Pucey.

Quickly, she flipped to the society pages. There it was in black and white:

 _Muggleborn Hermione Granger Snags Scions of Two Houses:_

 _Marcus Flint and Adrian Pucey Wed War Heroine in Rare Ceremony!_

" _De pace nuptias_ ," Luna murmured from behind her. She took Hermione's wrist in her hands and examined the bracelet. "Interesting."

"It was their suggestion," Hermione admitted.

"An honourable choice," Luna said. She looked up from the bracelet and examined Hermione's face for several long moments. The silence stretched between them and Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "You've been blessed."

Hermione nodded. "I… yeah. We were."

"I think I'm rather put out," Luna said with a pout. "There were no gods in attendance at _my_ wedding."

" _Your_ wedding?" Hermione gasped and clutched at Luna's hands. "Did you get married last night? Who on earth did you… _Zabini_?"

"You said you wanted to help him," Luna reminded her. She paused and frowned at Hermione. "Did I get that part wrong? Did you not want to help him?"

"No, I did," Hermione rushed to reassure her. "I just… you didn't have to do that Luna."

"You did," Luna pointed out.

"I did," Hermione agreed. She sighed and took a sip of her tea.

Luna leaned one hip against Hermione's desk.

"I'm glad that's settled," Luna said with a serene smile. "The sex is fabulous. I would have hated to have given that up."

Hermione sprayed tea across her desk and began to choke on air. Luna immediately began to pat her back firmly.

"Thank you, Luna," Hermione wheezed. "I'm fine. I'm… yes, thank you."

Pulling out her wand, Luna siphoned the tea off of Hermione's desk and off of her robes. Hermione stared down at her once-again perfect robes and uttered a small prayer of thanks. She shuddered to think what Pebble would have had to say if she had come home in stained robes.

"Do you want to see the ring?" Luna asked almost shyly.

"I would love to see your ring, Luna," Hermione replied with a sincere smile.

It was a preposterously huge, gaudy radish picked out in diamonds, rubies and emeralds. Hermione stared at it in horrified awe. How had Zabini managed within the small amount of time that he had last night?

"Blaise said that it made a strong statement," Luna offered.

"It definitely does that," Hermione muttered.

"When you're ready, let us know how we can help," Luna said.

"When I'm ready?" Hermione repeated in surprise.

Luna frowned at her. "You _do_ have a plan, don't you, Hermione? I told Blaise that you had a plan."

"I…," Hermione paused for a moment and thought. "I think I might, but I'll need you to come to, erm, to Flint's Manor."

"You should invite the others, too," Luna suggested.

"What others?" Hermione asked.

"The other Death Eater brides," Luna explained.

"Who?" Hermione wondered wildly if _everyone_ had gotten married last night.

"Well, obviously Astoria Malfoy," Luna said thoughtfully. "I'm not sure who all else. Maybe Neville."

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione's voice rose and she took a quick glance to make sure that no one was watching them. She turned back to Luna. "Did you say _Neville_? _Our_ Neville?"

"He's had a crush on Theodore Nott for years," Luna explained with a shrug. "Didn't you know?"

"No, I didn't know," Hermione muttered. She huffed indignantly and glared up at Luna. "Why doesn't anybody ever tell me these things?"

"They think you already know," Luna told her. "You are the brightest witch of your age, remember."

"Bloody hell," Hermione muttered and put her head on her desk.

/\/\/\/\/\

As soon as everyone left for their lunch break, Hermione raced from her office to the cafeteria.

"Come on," she muttered to herself as she expertly wove through the throng.

Thankfully, Neville was sitting by himself in the cafeteria when Hermione arrived. She threw herself into the chair at his table and took several deep lungsful of air. Neville looked up from his curry to watch Hermione with mild curiosity.

"Hullo there, Hermione. Congratulations, by the way." Neville took another careful bite of his lunch.

"Yes, yes, thanks and all that," Hermione said dismissively and waved a hand at him. "Did you?"

"Did I what?" Neville asked with a frown.

"Did you—last night? Should I be congratulating you, or is it tonight?" Hermione demanded.

Neville put down his spoon and leaned forward. "Hermione, are you well?"

"Did you marry Nott," Hermione hissed.

Neville sat up straight and frowned at her. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Look, we don't have time for that," Hermione told him in a low voice. She leaned forward and glared at him until he leaned toward her. "The Ministry is up to something. You have to marry him. Now."

"Hermione, Merlin," Neville growled at her. "You can't just come in to the middle of the Ministry's cafeteria and order me to marry random wizards."

"Not random wizards, just that one," Hermione countered. She frowned at Neville. "You know me, Nev. You know that I must have reasons for asking."

Neville became very still. "I do know you," he agreed quietly. He frowned at his curry. "What's happening?"

"Punitive measures against former Death Eaters," Hermione explained in a near whisper. "Not just fines."

Neville's fingers tightened on his spoon. "That explains a lot," he muttered.

"What happened, Neville?" Hermione asked softly.

"We fought," Neville sighed. He rolled his eyes and gave her a sad smile. "He sent me a slew of Owls, but I wasn't done being angry with him."

"Maybe he waited," Hermione offered with a hesitant smile. "I could ask Flint and Pucey."

Neville chuckled at that and shook his head. "You might want to start calling them Marcus and Adrian."

Hermione flushed with embarrassment. Neville was right—she needed to be more careful.

"Do you want me to ask or not?" Hermione snapped.

"Go ahead and ask," Neville told her with a grin. His gaze flicked up over Hermione's shoulder and his grin dimmed.

A hand touched Hermione's back. She glanced up automatically, but she already knew that it would be Pucey. Right… _Adrian_.

"Hermione." His voice was slightly stilted, but Hermione supposed that could be because of their large audience.

"Adrian," she replied after a slight hesitation. He gave her one of his charming smiles and nodded at her. "I was just asking Neville if he might come to Fli—to the Manor. For, erm, for dinner or something."

"You want to throw a dinner party?" Adrian asked in surprise.

"No," Hermione said quickly. "No, I mean, oh bloody hell."

"Ron was a horrible influence on you," Neville sighed.

Both Pucey and Flint glowered at Neville, and Hermione couldn't really blame them. It wasn't well done of Neville to mention Ron at all. The Ministry needed to believe that she was happily married to her wizards. She hadn't really thought about Ron in a romantic way in years, but rumours always persisted. Ron's favourite was the one where she was pining away for him. He always mailed her clippings of that one. The git. It was usually accompanied by a hastily scribbled note about how she needed to get out a bit.

"Stuff it, Longbottom," Hermione snapped. She turned to Flint and Pucey who were now watching them in confusion. "Look. Is there a way we could have Neville over? And also, maybe… _one_ of your friends."

Hermione stared at them intently, hoping that they would understand. Both wizards stared back and then looked at one another.

"That's just sad," Flint muttered.

"Maybe she's just off her game," Pucey offered. "Your House Elf is enough to rattle anyone."

"Look, can you do it, or not?" Hermione growled.

"I think so, yes," Pucey replied. "But tomorrow you'll need to eat lunch with us on Diagon Alley. Perhaps dinner as well."

"Yes, yes, of course," Hermione agreed immediately. She glanced at Neville who was watching them with a slightly shocked expression and then turned back to her husbands. "Is he prepared as well?"

"Probably," Flint said. He shrugged then. "If he isn't, he's stupid."

Unfortunately, Hermione couldn't really argue with that.


	5. Into the Kiln

_A/N: For once in my life, I actually have a couple chapters of this tucked back. Just in case. That's rather ironic considering that the internet has gone completely out. I've called our service provider and they've promised to send someone out… in the next 3-5 days. Lovely. Just… lovely._

 _I know that some of you were looking forward to friends & family reactions. They're coming, but they're spaced out. _

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"You don't have to do this." Hermione felt it was best to offer a half-hearted protest. Flint… no, _Marcus_ grunted at her and Pucey… _Adrian_ rolled his eyes.

"It helps with the verisimilitude," Adrian reminded her with a pointed look.

"Right," Hermione sighed. "I'm sorry; it's just that I… I'm not used to this sort of thing."

"Being treated like a lady?" Adrian asked drily.

"It'd be rude to run off," Marcus said and offered her his arm.

"My mother would have boxed my ears if I'd ever done such a thing to any witch of my acquaintance, let alone my _wife_." Adrian huffed and followed after them.

The urge to defend her friends rose within her, but Hermione pushed it back down. She couldn't really count Harry because he had been raised among Muggles just as she had. She remembered several times that the Weasley twins had trailed after her around Hogwarts, especially during her Fifth year. There had been several times that Ron had shown up to the library to walk her back to Gryffindor tower. Even Neville had usually made it a point to walk with her from classes that they had shared.

Somehow the wizards of Gryffindor had managed a sneaky sort of chivalry that she'd never noticed, and had therefore never been able to protest. The wankers. They had made it all seem so casual that she had never even thought about it. No one had ever offered their arm to her, or put a hand to her shoulder, but the courtesy had been there just the same.

"It just wasn't as formal," Hermione finally said aloud.

"Gryffindors rarely are," Adrian commented. He flashed her a bright, appealing grin. "Present company excepted, of course."

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "Of course."

When they arrived back at the Department for the Care and Regulation of Magic Creatures, Harry was lounging in her chair at her desk. She took a quick glance around the office, but only one or two of her co-workers had returned and they were working on their projects, ignoring the fact that Harry Potter was in their department. He leaned back casually and twirled his wand in his fingers an elaborate display of dexterity, the show off. Hermione glared at him.

"Hermione," Harry greeted her calmly. Then his gaze slid to her husbands and his expression became glacial. "Flint. Pucey."

"Harry." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest defensively. "I sent you a letter."

"Yes, yes you did," Harry agreed in that same calm voice. He pulled a bit of parchment out of the pocket of his robes. "Let's look at it, shall we?" He cleared his throat and then began to read the letter aloud:

" _Harry, I'm going to marry Marcus Flint and Adrian Pucey tonight. Sorry for the short notice. I'll explain later. Love, Hermione_."

"I said I was sorry for the short notice," Hermione snapped. Harry snorted.

"I went by your flat first thing this morning, Hermione." Harry took a deep breath and shot another icy glare at Adrian and Marcus. "You weren't there."

"Oh." Hermione could feel her face heat with embarrassment and she hugged herself.

Suddenly, Marcus' arm wound around her waist and she was pulled back against the warm, solid length of his body. Adrian maneuvered so that he was between Hermione and Harry and her new husband glared at Harry.

"Our wife spent her wedding night with us, Potter," Adrian informed Harry in an icy drawl.

"Really?" Harry scoffed. "Then why is she still listed as Granger with the Ministry? I don't know what the hell you two are up to, but I won't let you hurt her."

"Of course she's listed as Granger, you ignorant twit," Adrian snarled. "The _pace nuptias_ makes her the scion of her own House."

"We were going to talk about that." Hermione tilted her head back so that she could look up at Marcus. His arm tightened about her waist for a moment and then he relaxed.

"Tonight," Marcus replied.

"Before dinner," Hermione muttered. Marcus nodded and then she turned her attention back to Adrian and Harry who were glaring at one another.

"The what?" Harry growled.

"The _pace nuptias_ ," Hermione repeated. She smiled weakly at Harry. "Marcus and Adrian wanted to offer me as much safety and security as they could so they suggested it."

"What does it do?" Harry demanded suspiciously.

"It has protective spells woven into it to prevent spousal abuse and to protect us from outside threats," Hermione explained. "It's a brilliant bit of spell work."

"How can you just… _Flint and Pucey_ , Hermione?" Harry's voice rose in frustration.

"You always said that Pucey was the only honourable Slytherin on their Quidditch team," Hermione reminded him. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. "I know that Marcus wasn't quite as… but when they came together I assumed that Adrian wouldn't have brought Marcus along unless he trusted him."

"You gambled your life on some throwaway comments I made about the Slytherin Quidditch team at Hogwarts?" Harry stared at her, gobsmacked.

"I suppose I could have married Malfoy if he had been available," Hermione said tartly. "Then we could both have married the person we each despised most at school."

"Hermione." The shocked tone was almost as bad as the hurt expression on Harry's face.

"You told all of us to bugger off," Hermione continued, determined to get this over with and settled. "It was your life, you said, and your decision. How is this any different? If I was supposed to sit back and let you handle your own personal business, what gives you the right to come here and call me out at my job—in front of everyone I work with?"

Harry shot a guilty glance around the office, which had filled back up with people returning from lunch during their conversation. Not a single department employee was pretending to do anything other than watch the emotional blow out of a fight between two-thirds of the Golden Trio. A dull flush spread up his neck and he turned back to Hermione.

"You're right, of course," Harry admitted quietly. He ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up even more than it normally did. "I'm sorry, Hermione. Pansy said it was a bad idea to go off half-cocked."

Hermione snorted at that. "For once, I agree with your wife."

"I would tell her, but she'll never believe me," Harry sighed.

"Bring her to dinner tonight," Marcus said, his chest rumbling against Hermione's back. "Flint Manor. Pansy knows how to get there."

Harry nodded. He turned back to Hermione. "Is that all right with you?"

It was tempting to leave Harry to dangle for a few minutes, but Hermione couldn't do it. Not to Harry, not even when he made her absolutely furious.

"I think that would be perfect," Hermione said.

"I'll just… I'll see you later," Harry muttered to all three of them before he turned and fled the department.

Once he was gone, Marcus abruptly released Hermione. Then he bent down and kissed her on the cheek. It was the merest brush of his lips, but Hermione could feel all of her co-workers staring at them and she knew she was blushing. Adrian kissed her other cheek and both of them performed polite bows.

"We'll be back at five," Adrian told her.

"Oh, but I have several projects," Hermione tried to protest.

"I'm sure you do, but we apparently have dinner guests," Adrian reminded her.

"That's true. Very well, I'll see you both at five," Hermione sighed.

/\/\/\/\/\

Walking into Flint Manor with her hand tucked through the crook of Pucey's, of _Adrian's_ , arm while wearing a set of silk robes that probably cost more than she had ever spent on clothing in her entire life was jarring. She could feel Flint… _Marcus_ hovering behind her—most likely waiting to catch her if she tripped in the shoes Pebble had insisted she wear.

In the light of day, the Manor was even more impressive. Hermione unconsciously moved closer to Adrian who patted her hand where it rested on his arm. They ushered her in to a room and Adrian deposited her in chair.

"Who should we invite over?" Adrian asked.

"Already invited the Potters," Marcus replied.

"Who is still unmarried?" Hermione countered.

"Don't know," Marcus replied. His brows drew together and he frowned. "We've been busy making sure that everything has been filed properly. Named you our Wizengamot proxy."

"Luna married Zabini last night," Hermione offered.

"Lovegood?" Adrian blinked at that.

"Good choice," Marcus observed.

"Why?" Hermione asked before she could stop herself. She sat back and looked at both of them. "I mean, why do you think she would be a good choice in this situation?"

"They're well-known as a Light family," Marcus explained.

"Slightly mad, but Light," Adrian added in a mutter.

"Okay." Hermione took a breath. "So Pansy, Harry, Luna, and Zabini. Who else?"

"Montague, Goyle, Nott," Marcus said firmly. He paused for a moment and then nodded. "I think that's all that's left."

"I think so," Adrian agreed.

"So we invite them to dinner," Hermione decided. She chewed on her lower lip as she thought. "We should probably invite Neville."

"Pebble," Marcus called, raising his voice slightly.

It was not fear that clutched at Hermione's insides when the bossy little House Elf cracked into the parlour next to Marcus. It wasn't.

"Master Marcus is needing Pebble?" Pebble asked.

"We're having a meeting here at the manner," Marcus explained. He paused for a moment. "We'll need food for 11."

"It's dinner, isn't it?" Hermione asked with a small frown.

"Can't be dinner," Marcus countered with a shake of his head. "Uneven numbers."

"He means that we'll have far more wizards than we will witches. It makes for uneven seating," Adrian explained in a quiet voice while Pebble and Marcus talked about the food. "So technically, you should say that it's a salon or something."

"I should say?" Hermione asked.

"You're the lady of the house. Any invitations would be issued through you," Adrian said with a shrug.

"I see. Is there some sort of official stationery I'm to use?" Hermione asked sarcastically.

"Erm…" Adrian cleared his throat. "Yes?"

"Oh for the love of… where is it?" Hermione demanded.

The stationery was aesthetically beautiful—a creamy, thick vellum parchment with the letters F, G, and P entwined together at the top. Hermione stared at it for a moment before she picked up her quill and wrote six invitations to an evening salon at Flint Manor.

Almost as soon as the Owls left, they returned with responses from everyone.

"Everyone accepted," Hermione said slowly.

"Did you expect anything else?" Adrian asked in surprise.

"Your friends don't even know me," Hermione protested.

"They know you're our wife," Adrian reminded her. "That's all they need to know."

"They know it's a _pace nuptias_ ," Marcus observed from the settee. "Thanks to Potter that's probably all over the Ministry now."

"You don't think they'll suspect anything… do you?" Hermione worried aloud.

"The Ministry or our friends?" Adrian asked.

"Both," Hermione decided.

"Our friends will definitely suspect something," Adrian said after a moment. "We didn't court you, we didn't even mention thinking about courting you, and we entered into an archaic form of marriage that's probably only still on the books because the Wizengamot forgot it existed. The very last thing some of those old bastards want to do is grant Muggleborns House status."

"The Ministry might be suspicious, but the _pace nuptias_ would be considered a smart choice for a Muggleborn and two former Death Eaters," Marcus added. "It gives them no real wiggle room to protest the marriage through legal actions because you are so well-protected by the marriage bond."

Hermione stared at Marcus, unused to him speaking so much at once. He gave her a slow, lazy smirk and leaned back in his seat.

"When you repeated your Seventh year… you did that on purpose?" Hermione asked.

A shadow flickered over Marcus' face and his expression became inscrutable.

"My mother protested my invitation to the ranks of the Death Eaters, and she was made to pay for that," he said quietly. "I did the best I could to make them underestimate me. I was able to use grief as partial protection, but Voldemort still Marked me."

Anything that Hermione might say would only seem trite so she bit her lower lip and stared at her hands. _Sorry_ didn't seem enough, and anything else would just be irritating. She tried to think of something else to talk about to distract Marcus from what must be a sad topic.

"What does that mean, 'House Status'?" Hermione asked, turning to Adrian.

"Official recognition as a House gives you privileges and perquisites socially," Marcus offered. He gave her a wry smile. "As you know, the patriarch and matriarch of a House are addressed as Lord and Lady as a courtesy."

"A House is usually recognized by the Wizengamot after the family involved submits a petition. It's put to a vote and if the majority passes it they are added to the House Rolls," Adrian explained.

"But not with a _pace nuptias_ ," Hermione guessed. Adrian and Marcus both gave her approving nods.

"Originally, the _pace nuptias_ was performed between feuding tribes or kingdoms. The spellwork was meant to grant equal status to all participants. If you had been the daughter of a tribal Chieftain and I had been a prince, it would grant us equal standing in the ritual and in the marriage," Marcus said.

"It would have made me a princess?" Hermione chuckled a bit at the idea.

"Yes," Marcus affirmed. The amused smile slid from Hermione's face.

"How does it work in our case?" Hermione asked.

"The House of Granger has magically been logged on the House Rolls. Because you are the _Prima Mater_ it will be a matrilineal House like the Bones family," Adrian explained.

"Do I get a Wizengamot seat?" Hermione asked with a speculative gleam in her eye.

"Not until your House has been proved," Marcus replied.

"How do I prove my House?" Hermione demanded.

"You have to provide it with an Heiress," Adrian said in a quiet voice.

"Oh." Hermione could feel her face heat up and she avoided eye contact with both of her husbands.

"We'll talk about that later," Adrian offered.

"Later is probably best," Hermione muttered.


	6. The Salon

_A/N: Thanks, as always, to Auntie_L for her beta ways. Thanks to all of you for being lovely and supportive. I don't know if I'll be on much this weekend. My sister is dragging me to a radio show of the Maltese Falcon. (It's actually very clever. There wasn't a whole lot of dragging involved.)_

* * *

Pebble was a menace. Hermione wondered if she was being punished for offending the House Elves of Hogwarts as a student. Maybe if she went and begged on her knees they would call off Pebble.

"Why do I need to change? You dressed me in this yourself," Hermione protested as she was herded into her rooms.

"That was for work," Pebble explained with a heavy sigh. "Now Mistress be having a salon, and Mistress be needing to _dress_ for a salon."

"But I-," Hermione tried one last time, knowing it was fruitless.

"If Mistress is appearing in public like a street urchin, then people be thinking that Pebble is a bad Elf," Pebble said sternly, glaring at Hermione. "Is Mistress wantingpeople to be thinking that Pebble is a bad Elf?"

"No, of course not," Hermione protested. "You are a wonderful House Elf. Obviously you have taken very good care of Marcus. Wait a minute… was it _you_ who suggested that he should fail his NEWTs when his mother was… when she passed?"

"Master Marcus was a good little wizard," Pebble said with a sniff. "Master Marcus never giving Pebble fits or arguing with Pebble."

 _Unlike his argumentative wife_ lay unspoken between them. Hermione heaved a put-upon sigh and stood in the middle of her room.

"What do you suggest Pebble?" She asked in a syrup-sweet voice.

Pebble smirked at her. "Pebble is glad that Mistress is learning."

It took several outfits—none of which Hermione had ever seen before in her entire life—before Pebble made her decision. The dress robes were a very dark currant red that made her skin appear to glow and complimented her hair. Hermione stared at herself in the full length mirror that Pebble had snapped into place. Pebble fussed with her hair, arranging her curls just so before announcing that Hermione was ready.

"Thank you, Pebble," Hermione responded.

"Mistress is welcome," Pebble said with one last pat to Hermione's hair.

/\/\/\/\/\

When Hermione arrived in the parlour, some of their guests had already arrived. Nott was lounging on one of the settee, sprawled elegantly across it, while Goyle sat stiffly in one of the chairs. Both wizards had risen hastily to their feet when Hermione entered the room.

"I beg your pardon, I didn't realize that you had arrived," Hermione said. She glanced about the room and frowned. "Adrian and Marcus must still be getting ready. I…," frantically Hermione cast about for something to say. "Would you care for some refreshment?"

"That would be lovely, Lady Granger, thank you," Nott replied.

Hermione froze for a moment at the unexpected form of address and then nodded to herself. Technically, Nott was correct. As the _prima mater_ of the newly incorporated House of Granger, she would be addressed as Lady Granger. It was just so odd to hear it spoken aloud.

"Pebble?" Hermione called with only a small amount of trepidation.

"Mistress is needing Pebble?" Pebble looked up at Hermione expectantly.

"Erm, Lord Nott?" Hermione glanced in his direction and received a nod. "And, erm, Lord Goyle have arrived. Could you serve them while we wait for everyone else to arrive?"

Pebble snapped her fingers and a small tray of drinks and canapes appeared on a table near Nott and Goyle.

"Thank you Pebble."

The parlour doors were thrown open with a great flourish and Pansy Potter stood in the centre, angled just so that the light hit her perfectly. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Lady Granger, how kind of you to invite us," Pansy gushed as she moved forward.

"Knock it off, Pansy," Hermione snapped. "I invited you over because I thought you _might_ be useful."

Pansy smirked at her and sauntered over to a settee where she sat down with careless grace. She looked back toward the door and patted the space next to her on the settee. Harry strode over to his wife and sat down next to her; he avoided looking at Hermione. Pansy put a soothing hand on his knee and turned to Hermione.

"Harry is very sorry that he upset you earlier, aren't you Harry?" Pany's voice grew a little hard at the end and Harry winced on the settee next to her.

"I was a git," Harry admitted.

"A hypocritical git," Pansy prompted him.

Harry sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "I was a hypocritical git, and I'm sorry."

"Good," Pansy said with a nod.

"Right, now what's the deal with the packy-whatsis?" Harry demanded. "Everyone kept asking me questions all day and I had no idea what I ought to say. Six different people told me to pass along their congratulations to Lady Granger! What the hell is going on, Hermione?"

"Quidditch contracts," Marcus announced as he walked into the room. He stopped near Hermione and frowned at Harry. "You have to read them carefully, or they bleed you dry and make you thank them for the privilege."

"What in the bloody hell do Quidditch contracts have to do with anything?" Harry's voice started to rise along with his temper. Pansy patted him on the knee.

"We're used to reading fine print to protect ourselves," Adrian informed Harry as he walked to stand on Hermione's other side.

"Started looking when they first started talking about estate seizures," Marcus added.

"I would say that's a bit paranoid, but it's served you well," Nott said and saluted them with his wine glass.

"Good evening everyone," Zabini called as he entered the room, Luna trailing after him with an absent smile. He stopped and bowed to Hermione. "Lady Granger, thank you for the invitation."

"Your House Status has caused a huge surge in the Ministry's wrackspurt population," Luna informed her solemnly. "We should order spectrespecs for the department."

"Right," Hermione said with a stiff smile. "Good idea."

"Blaise," Adrian greeted Zabini with a polite nod and an elegant bow for Luna. "If you'll take a seat?"

The couple made their way to an empty settee where Zabini sat down and tugged Luna into his lap. She sat down gracefully and wound her arms about Zabini's neck. Hermione flushed and averted her gaze from the cosy picture they made.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, am I late?" Neville asked as he hurried into the parlour.

"You're right on time, Neville," Hermione assured him grateful for a distraction from Zabini pressing kisses to the inside of Luna's wrist.

"I ran into Montague at the Apparition point," Neville said. He glanced over his shoulder with a small frown. "He was right behind me."

"Lady Granger," Montague murmured as he bowed over her hand, brushing his lips against her skin.

Hermione jerked her hand back as though she'd been scalded and she stared at Montague in surprise. Marcus made a sound that was almost like a growl and Adrian took her arm and pulled her against his side.

"She still doesn't know how most of it works, Montague," Marcus grumbled.

Montague smirked at all three of them and sauntered off to snag a glass of wine and lounge on a chair next to Goyle.

"So, thank you everyone for coming so promptly," Hermione began. She paused and glanced at Marcus and Adrian who just nodded at her. "As far as we know, the Ministry is still hammering out the details of their latest legislation. It was sent back to some subcommittee because they wanted a couple of paragraphs added about reparations to the victims' fund."

"That doesn't mean they won't declare a secret session to accomplish what they want to do," Montague scoffed.

"Exactly," Hermione agreed with a nod.

"Merlin's teeth," Nott said with an ill-disguised expression of horror. "You called us here to… what? To marry us off?" He turned to glare at Neville. "You knew about this? And you _agreed_?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Neville snapped. He turned to Hermione. "Why would the Wizengamot call a secret session?"

"The new legislation would make former Death Eaters wards of the Ministry," Hermione explained. "Their lands and monies would be held in trust by the Ministry."

"Fuck," Neville breathed, and his face turned pale. His eyes automatically sought out Nott's. "You can't let them do that."

"It's not like I _want_ it to happen, Neville!" Nott snarled.

"Fine, then you'll marry me," Neville retorted.

"The fuck I will," Nott growled.

"Look here, you arrogant bastard," Neville hissed. "I am not letting the Ministry bleed your coffers dry and leave you to rot."

"That's going to be kind of hard to do with Hannah Abbot hanging all over you, isn't it?" Nott sneered.

"This is about Hannah?" Neville looked at Nott incredulously. "She just broke up with her girlfriend! She was upset and she is my friend."

"You two looked very friendly as you went upstairs at the Leaky," Nott said bitterly.

"Nothing happened," Neville retorted. He frowned in Nott's direction. "I wouldn't have thought that you cared. You're the one who called it off."

"You just seemed to be moving on rather quickly," Nott replied in a sulky voice.

"You're an idiot," Neville muttered.

"It's not his fault, Neville," Luna said. "It's the wrackspurts."

Montague snorted into his wine glass and Goyle coughed. Zabini glared at the both of them and wound an arm around Luna's waist.

"You have a license, Nott, or do you need one?" Marcus asked.

"I have one," Nott sighed. He finished his wine and set down his glass. "Right. Let's go get married, Longbottom."

"You're an arrogant arse," Neville huffed.

"I'm your arrogant arse," Nott reminded him. He paused for a moment and looked uncertain. "If you still want me."

"Oh, fuck off," Neville told him. He grabbed Nott by the front of his robes and dragged him from the room.

Everyone stared at everyone else for several long moments.

"It's like a reality show on the telly," Harry whispered in a stunned voice.

Hermione snorted and there were scattered chuckles around the room.

"Greg? Graham?" Adrian turned to them.

"You want us to marry each other?" Goyle asked in surprise.

"Of course not," Zabini replied. "You're both Death Eaters. You need wives… or husbands… that aren't."

"Do you know anyone that would help them?" Hermione asked Pansy.

"Daphne is still doing that torrid love affair thing with Ginny Weasley," Pansy offered. She scrunched her nose and thought. "Millie is being courted by Viktor Krum."

"Hannah Abbot is apparently gay," Harry added.

"Bisexual," Hermione corrected him absently. She chewed on her lower lip. "Maybe? She _is_ a Hufflepuff. Was she in love with her girlfriend?"

"She was," Pansy sighed. "What about Sally-Ann Perks?"

"She's dating Justin Finch-Fletchley," Hermione said with a shake of her head. She gasped and snapped her fingers at Pansy. "But Susan Bones isn't dating anyone at the moment."

"Neither is Padma Patil," Luna suggested.

"I thought she was seeing Terry Boot," Pansy asked.

"She was, but they broke up a couple of months ago," Hermione replied.

"Susan Bones," Goyle said with a frown. "I thought she was the witch dating Hannah Abbot."

"They are very close friends, but they've never dated," Hermione explained. "Hannah was dating a witch from the ICW liaison office."

"Who is to say that these witches would even consent to tie themselves to us?" Montague protested.

"Do you have a better plan?" Marcus asked him point blank.

Montague scowled at him. "No."

"How are you supposed to convince them to marry us?" Goyle asked worriedly. "I don't think Bones likes me very much."

"We can ask," Hermione said. She turned to Luna. "You suggested Padma. Do you think she's willing to marry either Goyle or Montague?"

"The Montague estate has a small library, but it's well-known for its rare, out-of-print volumes," Pansy offered. She smirked at Montague. "The witch is a Ravenclaw, is she not?"

"That would be attractive," Hermione admitted.

"We have _two_ libraries," Adrian leaned over and murmured in her ear.

"Really?" Hermione turned to look at him and realized that they were only inches apart. Adrian's ice blue eyes watched her unblinkingly.

"Later," he promised her.

"Focus," Marcus rumbled at the both of them. "The libraries aren't going anywhere."

"What about Greg?" Zabini asked. "What would Bones like about him?"

"He likes to putter about the estate," Adrian suggested. "He's always fixing things. He's a hard worker."

"The problem is that we don't have time for them to woo either witch," Hermione fretted. "We need to make it happen quickly."

"We could ask them," Luna said.

They all turned to stare at her. She played absently with Zabini's left ear.

"Do you think they would answer a summons from Hermione Granger in the middle of the night, Luna?" Zabini asked curiously.

Harry snorted from his spot next to Pansy. "Of course they would." He turned to look at his wife. "Wouldn't you?"

Pansy blinked in surprise. "You mean… if we weren't married?"

"Sure," Harry agreed. "If you didn't have any real social contact with her, and she sent you an Owl in the middle of the night. What would you do?"

"I would be… intrigued," Pansy admitted. "Granger was never the sort to do anything without thoroughly researching it first."

"What would make you reply immediately as opposed to the next morning?" Adrian asked.

"If she said that it was urgent, I would believe her," Pansy said.

Marcus shoved the box of stationery at her. Hermione huffed and took it from him. Quickly, she wrote two brief notes and had an Owl take them to Susan Bones and to Padma Patil.

"Now what?" Goyle asked with a frown.

"We wait," Marcus told him.


	7. Extending a Hand

_A/N: For the love of little green apples... my internet situation is about to drive me stark raving mad. So I've got no wifi at work. That's a whole huge situation that is going to make me come unhinged involving digging up the parking lot and pulling permits from the city. So I take my laptop home, but it's stormy and the wifi at home goes out and stays out for the rest of the night. Really? REALLY? Long story short: I meant to post this yesterday. I didn't. So I'm posting it today._

 _People have asked about face casts. My beta has this thing about Adrian Pucey, and she always sees him as Colton Haynes. (At the time I was watching Arrow, and I couldn't quite picture it until she sent photos of him in a tuxedo suit. Yum.) Now she's got me seeing Adrian as having Colton Haynes' face. Marcus... I don't know? Someone on tumblr suggested Gui Fedrizzi. He's definitely delicious enough._

 _Someone noted that there isn't a whole lot of love for these couples/groupings. Well, no, there isn't. Hermione and Luna have married wizards to protect them from an unjust law. They are going to encourage others to do the same. This is my sort-of-kind-of take on a Marriage Law fic. The love/affection comes later, hopefully. This might not be as smutty as other stuff I've written._

 _Arx Note: Up to a whole 600 words. I have this scene I want to write and I can't make it work. I keep erasing it and rewriting it._

* * *

The latest issue of _Potions Quarterly_ , a cup of tea, and a plate of bikkies was one of Padma's favourite ways to pass an evening. She snuggled down into her chair and turned to the next article: _Variations of Babbling Beverage_. Just as Padma was drawn into the intricacies of the brewing process, a sharp tap sounded at the window. She turned and looked at her wall clock.

"What on earth? Who could be Owling at this time of night?" Padma muttered as she got up and made her way to the window.

A strange owl flew in and extended its leg to her. Padma carefully undid the letter and absently handed the owl a treat from the small bowl she kept by her window. The stationery was unfamiliar, and Padma stared at the wax seal in confusion. She flipped it over and blinked in surprise. She would recognize that handwriting anywhere. Padma opened the letter and began to read.

 _Dear Padma,_

 _I know that this letter is unexpected. I do apologize for the lateness of the hour, but please believe that I had no alternative. Would it be possible for you to come to Flint Manor this evening? I need your help on a project._

 _Warm regards,_

 _Hermione_

Curiosity swirled through Padma. Hermione Granger had written to her several times over the years, but usually it was about potions. The first time that Padma had been published in a potions journal, Hermione had sent her a congratulatory note and flowers. This… was not about potions. She stood there, tapping the letter against her chin until the owl hooted at her indignantly.

"Sorry," Padma muttered. "Hang on a tick."

Quickly, Padma grabbed a bit of spare parchment and scribbled a reply. The owl stuck its leg out and Padma secured her note. Then the owl took off and went back out the window. Padma looked at her tea and biscuits and sighed.

"This had better be important, Granger," Padma grumbled.

On her way out of her flat, she grabbed a chocolate hobnob for the road.

/\/\/\/\/\

The years at Hogwarts had been good for Susan. Insulating. While she had been there, she didn't have to worry about how cold and empty Bones Manor was. It was just Susan and Aunt Amelia rattling around in the old thing, and the Ministry often kept Aunt Amelia away. Susan had often been lonely before Hogwarts.

After Aunt Amelia had been killed, Susan had spent every holiday with the Abbott family. Hannah's grandparents had been kind to them both, even if they had been a bit over-protective. Perhaps it had been un-Hufflepuffish of Susan to ignore the hard work of setting her family estate to rights, but Susan couldn't bear the empty halls of her childhood home.

It had taken all the encouragement of Hannah, Ernie, and Justin to get Susan back into Bones Manor. They had helped her to clear everything that reminded her of her Aunt into storage. _For later_ , Hannah had told her with a sad smile.

Surprisingly enough, Justin had been the most helpful when it came to untangling her estates. The Finch-Fletchleys had some kind of noble title in the Muggle world, and Justin had been raised to navigate inheritance rights and entailments with all the grace of a pureblood wizard. It had been the one bright spot in her grief—to see the look on the solicitor's face when this _Muggleborn upstart_ began spewing legal jargon as though he were talking about the weather.

It no longer hurt to go into the small parlour—which the Bones family had always referred to as the Badger's Den—and see Aunt Amelia's favourite chair sitting empty. Susan tried to keep busy, and she usually succeeded, but tonight was her Aunt's birthday and she felt drawn to the Badger's Den.

"I miss you," she told her Aunt's empty chair. "I miss how bright and strong and brave you were. I miss how you always encouraged me to do my best and to work hard. I miss how fierce and loyal and loving you were."

When the owl tapped at the Den's window, Susan jumped in her seat. The owl tapped again, a bit louder. Susan went to the window and let it in. It was much too late for normal mail. Who would be sending her a letter at this time of the night? Worried that it might be from Hannah, who was still struggling with her break up, Susan quickly took the letter.

The handwriting and the seal were both unfamiliar, but Susan shrugged and opened it anyway. It must be important—there was no other reason for a letter this late in the evening.

 _Dear Susan,_

 _I know that I'm probably the last person that you expected to write you, but please know that I never would have disturbed you if it wasn't urgent. I have a proposal that I would like you to consider, but there are time constraints involved. Would you be willing to come to Flint Manor tonight to discuss them?_

 _Sincerely,_

 _Hermione Granger_

Shock stilled Susan and she stared at the letter in her hand. What on earth was going on? Why would _Granger_ , of _all_ people write to her? While she and Granger weren't exactly hostile, ever since that brief span just after the war where Susan and Ron Weasley had dated, Granger had been coolly civil to her; never rude, but never quite as friendly or polite as Granger always managed to be to Hannah.

Flint Manor? Susan remembered vaguely someone at work burbling about Granger marrying Flint and Pucey, but Susan hadn't paid attention. She had never been one for gossip as it was usually wildly inaccurate.

Despite the fact that Granger and Susan were not on the best of terms… she knew that the other witch wouldn't have written her on a whim. Something was happening. Something important, and Granger thought that she could help. To be honest, that was rather flattering. Granger had a reputation for not suffering fools gladly. At the Ministry her work was top notch, and she only requested the best. Susan bit her lip and stared at the letter.

"Oh, hell. Why not?" Susan asked the owl.

/\/\/\/\/\

"You should eat something," Marcus told her and shoved a plate of food in her hands.

Several dainty finger sandwiches and a couple of canapes teetered dangerously until Hermione steadied her hands. She murmured a quiet thank you to Marcus and picked up a sandwich. Hermione nibbled at the sandwich to appease Marcus and watched Montague and Goyle take turns pacing a hole in the parlour's carpet.

There was a delicate chiming sound that had Montague and Goyle freezing in place and staring at each other. Marcus moved off of the settee.

"They're here," he told Hermione.

"Maybe I should come with you," Hermione said with a worried frown.

"Pebble will let them in," Marcus replied with a shrug.

After several moments, Padma Patil entered the parlour, followed by Susan Bones. Padma was wearing an oversized sweater for Puddlemere United. Her long hair had been put up in a neat bun. She looked to be dressed for a night in, and Hermione felt a brief pang of guilt. She ought to have said something, probably, but that would have made the whole thing even stranger.

 _I'm sorry it's the middle of the night, but could you come over? Do dress in something pretty, just in case._

Hermione almost snorted at the response that note would have garnered.

In contrast, Susan was still wearing the robes that Hermione had seen her in earlier; stark black that complimented her auburn hair. Both witches were peering about the room and frowning. They turned to Hermione and the matching frowns grew even deeper.

"What are you up to, Hermione?" Padma asked.

"Susan, you're in the DMLE, aren't you?" Hermione countered with a polite smile.

"Yes, I am," Susan replied. "Justin Finch-Fletchley and I work as barristers for the Wizengamot's High Court."

"What do you think about the suggested addendums to the new Death Eater fine levies?" Adrian asked.

Susan frowned. "It's a nasty bit of legislation that will do much more harm than good. The seizing of estates that have defaulted won't upset people too badly, but that bit about making the former Death Eaters wards of the state… that's going to cause bad blood for decades, if not generations. Justin and I both argued against that. He tried to bring in some Muggle history books, but they wouldn't listen to him."

"Oh," Padma breathed. She turned to Hermione with wide eyes. "Really?"

"It isn't fair," Hermione huffed.

"That's why you did the _pace nuptias_ ," Padma continued as though Hermione hadn't said anything. "A couple of us wondered at that."

"It bars the Death Eaters from claiming their Wizengamot seats," Hermione reminded Susan. "But a _wife_ can claim it in their stead."

"A wife?" Susan blinked in surprise and turned to Padma who was staring off into the distance. She turned back to Hermione with a frown. "And you expect _us_ to marry _them_? Why?"

"So that we can change it," Hermione replied. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. "So that we can make it better."

"That's going to take a lot of hard work," Susan warned her.

"I'm not afraid," Hermione said with a little huff.

"Who?" Padma asked suddenly and turned to Hermione expectantly.

"Me," Montague said and walked over to stand next to Padma. His face was pale and Hermione could see that his hands were clenched at his sides. "Pansy thinks that you might like access to the Montague library."

"The Montague library?" Padma seemed to consider that for a moment. Then she frowned at Montague. "Do you have the journals of Elphaba Montague?"

"She was my great-great-grandmother," Montague offered. "Her journals are a part of the library's collection."

"I would love to see them," Padma said with a slight smile. Then she turned to Hermione. "You have a plan," she stated.

"I do, yes," Hermione agreed.

"Luna?" Padma's voice rose slightly as she called her former Housemate's name, but she turned to look at Montague. "What do you think?"

"The Montague estate also has a reflecting pool," Luna said dreamily. "Perfect for lotus flowers."

A dark blush spread over Padma's tawny cheeks. "Very well then."

"Is that a yes?" Montague asked hesitantly.

"Parvati is going to think I've lost my mind," Padma muttered to herself. Then she smiled at Montague. "Yes."

"I suppose you have someone picked out for me as well?" Susan demanded and crossed her arms over her chest in a defensive maneuver.

"Sorry," Goyle said and gave her a half-hearted wave.

Susan stared at him surprise. "Goyle?"

"Yeah." Goyle shifted nervously on his feet. "If you'd rather not, I'll understand."

"I helped you study for your NEWTs," Susan said. She frowned at him. "You worked so hard. You were determined to do your best at every single one. You sat in the library for hours by yourself."

"Yeah," Goyle agreed.

"Coming back after, you didn't have to do that," Susan said carefully. She glanced around the room and then focused on Goyle. "A lot of people didn't."

Goyle shrugged. "It was better than being at home."

Susan nodded. "I understand that."

"So… d'you wanna?" Goyle asked. He spread his hands and watched her uncertainly. "I'll try not to be a total bastard."

"I wouldn't recommend it," Susan informed him coolly. "You ever poked a badger?"

Pansy snickered. "No one in Slytherin was ever that stupid."

"People forget, sometimes," Susan said with a little smirk.

"Hufflepuffs were always vicious," Adrian muttered and Marcus grunted in agreement.

"What do you want from me, Granger?" Susan asked.

"I want you to take Goyle's seat on the Wizengamot," Hermione told her. She paused and glanced at Luna before focusing on Susan again. "I want you to sit in on every single session."

"You want to create a voting bloc," Padma said slowly.

"I won't vote the way you tell me to, Granger." Susan frowned and looked around the room. "I'll vote my conscience."

"Of course," Hermione agreed immediately. "That's all I'm asking you to do."

"You think that I can't be bought," Susan observed.

"Can you?" Hermione asked tilting her head slightly, inviting Susan to respond.

Susan glared at her. "No."

"Well then." Hermione shrugged. "I just want you to be you, Susan."

"And marry Goyle," Susan added drily.

"Ideally, yes," Hermione agreed.

"You truly think that the Ministry is going to push this through?" Padma asked.

"Most certainly," Susan replied with a heavy sigh. "They are absolutely determined to punish the Death Eaters; they're embarrassed and angry. The public is still afraid and upset. Not to mention the fact that the reparations to the Muggleborns imprisoned in Azkaban and the repairs to Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, and the other magical communities is costing more than they had imagined it would. To put it simply: the Ministry is royally fucked."

"But to make the unmarried Death Eaters wards of the state," Padma protested. "To limit their ability to do business and to bar them from the Wizengamot… what does that serve?"

"We could be forced to marry their daughters," Montague pointed out. "As wards of the state, we would not be able to refuse their choice of wives."

"And then they would control us just as surely as if they had seized our assets," Blaise observed bitterly from his settee.

"So you are choosing your own wives," Susan said. She tilted her head slightly and stared at Goyle. "Did you choose me? Or did they?"

Goyle blinked at her in confusion.

"I'm a Death Eater," he muttered. He rubbed absently at his arm. "Or I was. I'm not pretty like Draco or Blaise. I'm not clever like Theo or Adrian. Nobody wants anything to do with me."

"I see." Susan stood there, thinking, for several moments. No one said a word. They were worried, no doubt, about frightening her off.

The legislation the Ministry was trying to push through was ill-conceived. She and Justin had both discussed it. If Montague was right, if the Ministry planned to hand former Death Eaters husbands out as boons therefore giving complete control of their estates and vaults to hand-picked wives, that would create an untenable situation.

Then there was the matter of Gregory Goyle. He had not been a nice boy at Hogwarts. Susan had hexed him often, especially during their ill-fated Seventh Year. Their Eighth year he had been a quiet, subdued figure. She had rarely seen him in the halls. Occasionally, she had spotted him in the library or the Great Hall.

It had been when she had spotted him helping a First Year Hufflepuff with her revisions that her opinion of him had changed.

" _I'm just s-s-stupid," the little witch sobbed so hard that she hiccoughed. "You sh-shouldn't waste your time on me."_

" _You're not stupid," Goyle had told her sternly. "You just have a hard time reading. I had the same problem when I started Hogwarts. My parents got me a tutor the year of my OWLs and he figured out what was wrong."_

" _What was wrong?" The witch asked curiously._

" _My eyes don't work right," Goyle said in a matter-of-fact tone. "He had to teach me how to make up for that."_

" _Can you teach me?" The witch demanded eagerly._

 _Goyle had blinked at her in surprise. "You want me to help you?"_

" _Yes," the little witch said with a nod._

" _Okay then," Goyle agreed. "I'll help you."_

After that, Susan had made it a point to sit at Goyle's table in the library and help him study. They hadn't been quite friends, but she had been polite to him, and that had been rare enough that he had been quietly grateful to her.

"You want me to help you?" She asked Goyle. She took a step closer to him. "Do you choose me?"

"I… yeah," Goyle said quietly.

"Okay then," Susan told him with a slight smile. "I'll help you."

An answering, hesitant smile spread over Goyle's face.


	8. Ginger Up

_A/N: A special shout out to LadyAnatar-she is entirely responsible for the idea that spawned Domitia Prewett. Love to my Falcons for just being them and listening to me whine. (The whining has been quieter lately, but only due to my lack of internet.) As always, all praise and glory unto Auntie_L who does her very best to reign in my commas._

* * *

Waking up the next morning was a struggle. The bed was so lovely, and Hermione hadn't been able to go to sleep until after everyone in Marcus' parlour had been paired off. Hopefully by now they were all safely married.

Everyone had left, and Hermione was given to understand that they were off to the Ministry where an official had been bribed with a ridiculous amount of money to wait for them. She wasn't quite certain as to what had happened with Neville and Nott, but she sincerely hoped that they were married. She sighed and stared at the top of her bed's canopy for a moment. There was no hope for it. She had to get up.

"Pebble can hear Mistress breathing," the House Elf informed her tartly. "There is being no point in pretending to sleep."

"Good morning Pebble," Hermione sighed. She sat up and stared at the Flint House Elf. "What can I do for you today?"

"Mistress can be getting out of bed and be getting dressed," Pebble said and nodded for emphasis.

"What are you going to make me wear today?" Hermione asked.

The House Elf snapped her fingers and another set of silk robes appeared on the bench at the foot of the bed. This set was a dark, burnished gold that flattered her skin tone. Where did the clothing come from? It fit Hermione like a glove—almost as though it had been tailored just for her. Hermione was afraid to bring her own things from her flat and put them in the closet for fear that Pebble would just get rid of them. She wouldn't put it past Pebble to do so.

"Master Marcus be saying that Mistress be eating lunch on Diagon Alley this afternoon," Pebble said.

"So I need to play my part." Hermione slipped out of her bed and went to stand next to Pebble. "Where do the robes come from?"

"Pebble is kenning what Mistress needs," Pebble said. She tapped her chest with one small hand. "When Mistress be marrying Pebble's Master Marcus."

"Really?" Curiosity flared through Hermione. "How does that… can I… can I _ken_ you as well?"

"Mistress not be needing to ken Pebble," the House Elf retorted with a snort and a roll of her eyes.

"But… what if–," Hermione began only to be cut off by the House Elf's fierce scowl.

"Is Mistress trying to _dawdle_?" Pebble demanded in a scandalized voice that made Hermione's cheeks heat.

"No, of course not," Hermione protested.

"Master Marcus and Master Adrian be waiting for Mistress in the morning room," Pebble informed her with a sniff.

With a sigh, Hermione headed to the bathroom. Once she was washed and dressed to Pebble's exacting standard, Hermione made her way to the morning room only to find Adrian and Marcus staring at their plates with identically blank faces. As a wife of only two days, Hermione wasn't that familiar with either Marcus or Adrian, but she suspected that their look boded ill.

"What's happened?" Hermione asked.

Both wizards jumped to their feet. Marcus held out a chair at the end of the table, and Adrian handed her the newspaper. The front page headlines smugly announced that the Wizengamot had passed a new amendment, _the_ amendment that they had all worried about, to the War Reparations Act. Hermione scanned the article carefully, looking for the clause that named the Death Eaters wards of the state. She sucked in a breath and her fingers tightened on the newspaper—it crinkled loudly in the silence of the room.

There it was in newsprint:

 _To ensure the safety of the wizarding populace, all wizards bearing the "Dark Mark", also known as "Death Eaters," shall be monitored by someone who is not or was not a Death Eater themselves. A spouse may promise surety on behalf of a Death Eater, but if there is no spouse to do so, then the Ministry itself will take on this task in order to protect wizarding Britain._

A wave of nausea rose in Hermione's throat and she swallowed as she tried to calm her nerves.

"Did we… did we get everyone?" Hermione asked and looked up at Adrian and Marcus.

"Check the society pages," Marcus replied.

"I think our three are taken care of, but… I'm not sure if we missed anyone," Adrian muttered. He was shredding a piece of toast into a pile of crumbs on his plate.

Quickly, Hermione turned to the society pages.

"Neville and Nott, Padma and Montague, Susan and Goyle," Hermione recited. Her eyes widened in surprise and she looked up at Adrian and Marcus. "Who in Merlin's name is Domitia Prewett?"

"She's a harridan," Marcus muttered. Adrian glared at him and turned to Hermione.

"She's Marcus' mother's great-aunt. Why?" Adrian asked.

"Because apparently she married Terrence Higgs," Hermione explained.

"The idiot," Adrian cursed under his breath. "He said he had it taken care of!"

"He did," Marcus said and shrugged.

"Domitia Prewett is 150 if she's a day," Adrian protested.

"Higgs' choice," Marcus countered. "Not our call."

"So he's trapped in a marriage with a woman that's 125 years older than he is for the rest of his life," Adrian scoffed. "That's just brilliant."

"For the rest of _her_ life," Marcus corrected Adrian with a smirk.

"I suppose that's true," Adrian agreed. He wiped his fingers off on his napkin. "I suppose it won't be long before he's a widower."

"So this is okay?" Hermione asked cautiously.

"Ultimately, it was Higgs' choice," Adrian said. "Marcus may hate his Aunt Domitia, but the old bat is _very_ well connected."

"She knows everyone," Marcus observed. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Given the circumstances, and the time constraints, it was a smart choice."

Breakfast was a subdued affair. Hermione managed to choke down some tea and eat a slice of toast, but the tension in the air and her roiling stomach made her appetite vanish. She stood up and both husbands stood up with her. She paused and looked from Marcus to Adrian.

"I should probably get to work," she said and gave them a faint smile. "Perhaps I'll talk to Luna."

"Just remember that we're coming to pick you up for lunch," Marcus reminded her.

"I'll remember," Hermione promised.

The department was an absolute madhouse when Hermione arrived. A wounded centaur had stumbled into Essex, causing panic and mayhem, which ended up involving a team of Obliviators and a rescue team from the DCRMC to relocate the centaur. A high-risk, priority report was delivered to DCRMC which involved a doxy infestation in a caravan. They had apparently gotten out of the caravan and were wreaking havoc in a car park in Bristol.

There was a brief moment of peace where Hermione and Luna were able to steal away to the break room for a cuppa. The rest of the morning was just as hectic and Hermione barely had a moment to rest. Just before lunch, Ron marched into the department with a glint in his eye and the _Prophet_ clutched in his fist.

"Hermione," he ground out—his face thunderous and red.

"Ronald?" Hermione sat back in her chair and assumed an expression of innocence.

It had been years since Hermione and Ron had been anything more than friends, and since the Pansy Parkinson debacle, they had all vowed to stay out of one another's love lives. The fact that Ron had somehow forgotten that crucial bit of information meant that he was most likely going to say something that would make her hex him. She scowled at him at the thought.

"What in the bloody hell is this dragonshite?" He demanded waving the paper in her face.

"It appears to be the _Daily Prophet_ , Ronald," Luna offered helpfully. She peered at it for a moment. "From a couple of days ago, I believe."

"I know it's the _Prophet_!" Ron bellowed.

Luna frowned thoughtfully at Ron. "Then why did you ask?"

"I mean, why does it say that you are married to Blaise Zabini? And why does it say that Hermione is married to Marcus Flint _and_ Adrian Pucey?" Ron demanded.

"I imagine for the same reason that it reported your marriage to Sue Li six years ago," Luna replied in a slightly dreamy voice.

"Right," Ron ground out. "So what you're telling me is that you're madly in love with Blaise Zabini?"

"I don't know if I would say _madly in love_ ," Luna protested. Ron made an articulate sound of triumph and Luna smirked at him. "However, I would say the _mind-blowing sex_ did have something to do with it."

" _Luna_!" Ron growled and covered his ears. He glared at her and then switched his glare to Hermione. "Mind-blowing sex all around then?"

"No!" Hermione blurted out before she could help herself and then bit back a groan of defeat.

"Then true love," Ron continued doggedly.

"Why, exactly, is my marriage of such interest to you, Ronald?" Hermione snapped.

"They've probably potioned you, or blackmailed you, or something even _worse_ ," Ron declared with a self-righteous expression that made Hermione want to smack him.

"So you're here to save me from my own stupidity, is that it?" Hermione growled.

"No," Ron protested. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

"But I'd have to be stupid, wouldn't I Ronald, to marry Slytherin wizards?" Hermione demanded.

"That's not what I said," Ron grumbled.

"I'm sure that Ginny and Daphne Greengrass will be pleased to hear that," Hermione retorted. Ron blanched.

"Look, Hermione, it's… it's not that I think that you're stupid," he sputtered helplessly.

"Well that's a load off of my mind, certainly," Hermione sneered.

"They're _Slytherin_!" Ron waved his hands in the air for added emphasis.

"Are they really?" Hermione widened her eyes and looked at Luna in surprise. "Are you sure? I had thought they were both Hufflepuffs. Slytherin? I mean, I went to school with them for _years_ , but I had no clue what their house affiliation was. You would think that they would make us wear ties or something so that we would know—"

"Hermione!" Ron whinged loudly.

"Ronald, stop it," Hermione growled at him. She slapped her hands on her desk and stood up so that she could poke him in the chest. "Your ridiculous prejudices against Slytherin have got to stop. Harry's married to a Slytherin and has been for three years. Ginny and Daphne have been together for two, and I don't think that's going to change anytime soon. We graduated from Hogwarts seven years ago. Move on!"

"It's not the same," Ron muttered darkly.

"How is it not the same?" Hermione demanded, completely and utterly exasperated.

"They're… you know," Ron leaned in and whispered. He made some confusing hand gestures that had Hermione looking to Luna for a translation.

"I think Ronald is worried because our husbands were Death Eaters," Luna decided after squinting at Ron for a moment.

"YES!" Ron waved his arms in Luna's direction. "Thank you!"

"Which is why they insisted on the _pace nuptias_ ," Hermione told him with an exasperated sigh. "Really, Ron."

"The _pace nuptias_ ," Ron repeated with a frown. "What's that?"

"It means they can't hurt me," Hermione huffed. She glanced at the clock on the wall and groaned. "Now, are we done yelling at each other in public?"

"What?" Ron blinked and looked from Luna to Hermione.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "As much fun as it is for me to have these intimate little tête-a-têtes in my department, in front of everyone I work with, I have a lunch date."

"What?" Ron repeated. He looked around the department and noticed that quite a few people were watching them with open interest. He flushed a bright red and turned back to Luna and Hermione. His shoulders slumped and a sheepish expression flitted across his face. "Sorry, it's just… you weren't at home, and I didn't know where you... you know."

"Flint manor, for the moment," Hermione said with a sigh.

"Oh." Ron seemed to deflate slightly.

In the years after the war, Ron had been forced to deal with Slytherins far more than he ever thought he would. Pansy Parkinson had gotten completely plastered at some sort of Victory celebration two years after the war, and had Apparated to Grimmauld Place with a plant to apologize to Harry for trying to hand him over to Voldemort. Instead, she'd thrown up on his shoes, and Harry had dragged her into the house and he and Kreacher had sobered her up.

The next morning, Ron had Flooed over to Grimmauld Place to check on Harry, only to find a bedraggled Pansy sipping weak tea and nibbling at dry toast. The ensuing fight had been loud and impassioned and had ended with Harry bellowing at Ron that he could shag whoever he pleased, and he didn't need, or want, Ron's approval. The fact that Pansy and Harry weren't even dating hadn't even entered in to it.

When Pansy and Harry had actually started seeing each other a few months later, it was almost anticlimactic for Ron—even if everyone else struggled with the whole situation. Then Daphne had tagged along with Pansy when they'd gone to support Ginny at one of her games, and Ron had ended up with _another_ Slytherin in his life. Now, Hermione had added two more. She almost felt sorry for him.

The sight of Adrian opening the door to her department and Marcus' large frame following on his heels filled her with a sense of relief. Hermione felt her shoulders loosen and she relaxed as they made their way to her desk.

"Ready for lunch, darling?" Adrian asked in a casual, breezy tone. He made sure to slowly reach out to put one careful hand on her waist and he leaned forward and kissed her temple with the merest brush of his lips against her skin.

"I am, thank you," Hermione replied with a grateful smile.

"Hermione," Ronald protested.

"Not now, Ronald," Hermione bit out between clenched teeth.

"Luna," Marcus greeted her with a nod of his head.

"Hullo, Marcus," Luna replied.

"How is the lovely Mrs. Zabini this afternoon?" Adrian asked her with a bright, charming smile.

Luna gave a long, slow blink and then smirked. "Quite well, thank you."

"Oh, that's just… that's not on at all," Ron groaned. "I do _not_ want to hear about you and Zabini." He turned to glare at Hermione. "Or you and… and _them_."

"So you _don't_ want to know whether Hermione is—," Adrian began with a wicked smirk, only to have Hermione clap her hand over his mouth and glare at him.

"Let's go to lunch," Hermione said and looked firmly at Marcus.

"Let's go," he agreed with a shrug.

"Good-bye, Ronald," Hermione said over her shoulder. "It was lovely to see you again. You'll have to bring Su over for dinner sometime soon."

Marcus snorted and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like _hopefully not too soon_ , but Hermione determinedly ignored him.

"Where are we going to lunch?" She asked Adrian.

"It's a nice little place," Adrian told her as he guided her out into the hall. "I think you'll love it."


	9. A Lunch Out

Perhaps it had been silly, but Hermione had half-expected some sort of ultra-posh, snootily exclusive restaurant that practically vibrated with seclusion and privacy spells. When Adrian and Marcus stopped outside of her favourite café on Diagon Alley, she wasn't prepared and had almost fallen on her face in the middle of the street when they stopped suddenly. Adrian's grip on her arm and Marcus hand at the small of her back helped her to regain her balance quickly.

"This is my favourite café." Hermione stared up at Adrian who was smirking back at her.

"I told you that you would like it," he teased her.

"Why here?" Hermione asked. She glanced up and down the Alley and then turned to look up at Marcus. "Why not one of your sorts of places?"

"My sort of place is a pub." Marcus looked down at her solemnly. "Would you rather go to the Leaky?"

"No." Hermione turned and headed in to the café.

The café was a popular establishment on Diagon Alley. It was well-known among Ministry employees because they offered an inexpensive lunch special and they had prompt service. More than one office had sent out for box lunches during important projects. Hermione had eaten there on a regular basis for years, and had developed a polite acquaintanceship with the owner, Grace Fawley.

"Good afternoon, Lady Granger," Miss Fawley chirped at her brightly. "Your usual table?"

"Could we have one with a view of the Alley?" Adrian asked and flashing a sunny smile at Miss Fawley.

"Of course," Miss Fawley agreed. "Right this way."

As a matter of course Hermione had avoided the little tables that were situated in the café's large windows, especially in the years immediately after the war. Miss Fawley had seemed to understand her desire for anonymity and had a little table practically wedged in an awkward corner that she usually saved for Hermione.

There was no need for Hermione to look at the menu, but she grabbed one and hid behind it anyway. The heavy weight of the other customers' glances was almost oppressive and what little appetite Hermione had vanished. The gentle pressure of Adrian's fingers touching her wrist drew her eyes to his.

"Was this the wrong choice?" Adrian asked quietly. His expression was neutral, but she could feel the coiled tension in his frame. "We thought this would be familiar… comfortable… to you."

That was all it took for Hermione to feel like a first rate arsehole. She felt an embarrassed flush heat her cheeks and she looked down at Adrian's tan fingers wrapped around her wrist. They were trying. That was the important bit, right? She had willingly entered into this awkward situation—married to two different wizards for the sole purpose of thwarting the Ministry. No one had forced her into this mess. If Marcus and Adrian were willing to do their best to make her feel comfortable—shouldn't she attempt to return the favour?

"It's more public than some of the other restaurants," Marcus added. He leaned closer to her and his lips brushed the shell of her ear. "The point is to be seen. We want it to be impossible for the Ministry to imply that you were coerced in any way."

The skin on the back of Hermione's neck prickled and she shifted in her chair. Adrian's fingers tightened around her wrist and her senses swam for a moment. Hermione took a deep breath and centred her thoughts before focusing on her husbands.

"This is fine," Hermione said in a slightly shaky voice.

"We can go to the Leaky," Marcus breathed in her ear.

"No, I… this is fine," Hermione repeated.

"Fine." The warm puff of Marcus' breath against her skin made her shift in her chair again.

"Are you ready?" Miss Fawley smiled at all of them.

Hadn't they just been seated? Normally Miss Fawley gave Hermione more time to look over the menu they both knew she had memorized, didn't she? Marcus and Adrian appeared to be completely unfazed. Both wizards turned to look at her.

"Salad Niçoise," Hermione decided. It was one of her favourite dishes here and it was fairly light compared to the other main dishes.

"Eel pie and mash," Marcus told Miss Fawley.

"Steak and kidney pie and mash," Adrian added.

Another smile and a nod. "Very good. I'll have this right up."

As soon as Miss Fawley left them, Hermione tugged her wrist away from Adrian and clasped her hands in her lap to keep from wringing them. Marcus and Adrian both shifted slightly and the tips of Adrian's ears turned pink.

"I apologize for taking liberties," he began in a slightly stiff voice. "But we did warn you."

"It's-"

"Fine," Marcus and Adrian said together. Hermione flushed and bit her lip.

"It _is_ ," Hermione retorted.

"We do not assume that any liberties extended for the sake of our public ruse will be extended privately," Adrian continued in that stiff voice that Hermione already disliked.

"We can talk about this at home," Marcus countered with a small frown. He glanced around the café and then gave Hermione a small smile. "Explain the rules of the game."

"It isn't a game," Hermione protested.

Both wizards turned to her with solemn expressions. Marcus nodded his head; acceding her point.

"No," he agreed. "It isn't."

The rest of the meal passed in a flurry. Hermione tried not to squirm in her chair every single time Marcus touched her or Adrian leaned close to murmur something to her, but it was difficult. She felt out-of-balance and off-kilter.

In the few days of her marriage's existence, there had been touching, but it was all polite, almost courtly behaviour. It could be explained away as good manners. This, however, was not mannerly. It was _touching_ of a whole other sort, and Hermione wasn't certain about how she felt about that.

They were almost done with their meal, and Marcus had leaned forward to tease her about the dessert menu when flashbulbs went off on the other side of the window. Hermione automatically flinched back and turned her face to Marcus. He put an arm around her and muttered something at Adrian.

"It's all right, Hermione," Adrian murmured to her a moment later. "Grace says that we can use her Floo."

It took Hermione a moment to remember that Miss Fawley's first name was Grace. She untucked her face from Marcus' neck and looked up at Adrian.

"Grace?" She repeated.

A series of flashbulbs went off, making Hermione's eyes water. She stood on unsteady feet and let Marcus manhandle her toward the Floo. Spots danced in front of her and she stumbled.

"Bloody reporters," Marcus growled.

"Too right," Hermione muttered in agreement. She hated the lot of them.

"Thank you, Grace," Adrian murmured politely somewhere near Hermione.

"Of course, Adrian," Miss Fawley replied.

Then Marcus shoved Hermione into the Floo and she didn't have time to wonder how her husband and the owner of her favourite café knew one another so well. She fell out of the public Floo in the middle of the Ministry's Atrium, and landed in a sprawled heap on the floor. She struggled to her knees just as Adrian stepped through the Floo. He held out a hand to her and helped her up off the floor.

"I beg your pardon," he sighed as he pulled out his wand and siphoned Floo soot off of her robes. "One of us should have gone through first. We were just anxious to get you out of there."

"I'm-"

"Fine. Yes, I know." Adrian rolled his eyes at her. "You were disoriented and unsteady from all the flashbulbs and we shoved you through a Floo. I should have come through first to make sure you didn't take a header into the marble."

A moment later, Marcus stepped out of the Floo. He looked Hermione over and then frowned at Adrian.

"Everything all right?" He asked.

"She's a bit woozy," Adrian replied with a sigh. "We might need to rethink our plan."

" _She_ needs to get back to work," Hermione reminded them tartly.

Both wizards escorted her back to her tiny cubicle where each wizard kissed her cheek.

"We'll see you at five," Marcus rumbled at her. Hermione sighed and then nodded.

"Yes, all right. Five o' clock," she agreed reluctantly.

/\/\/\/\/\

That evening dinner seemed hurried, almost rushed. Adrian and Marcus practically dragged her to the living room and pushed her into one of the chairs. She settled into her chair and stared up at them.

"Okay," Adrian muttered half to himself.

"We have to make things look above board," Marcus said flatly. Adrian nodded.

"It has to appear as though you _wanted_ to marry us," he added.

"I did want to marry you," Hermione protested with a small frown.

"Yes, you did," Marcus agreed. He paused and rubbed the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. Then he focused on Hermione. "You're a Muggleborn witch. We're purebloods. You're a War Heroine and Harry Potter's best friend. We're Death Eaters. You're a Ministry employee in some cramped little office. We're professional Quidditch players."

"We're opposites at every turn," Adrian explained. His lips twisted and he shrugged. "No one would have ever guessed that the three of us would end up together. It's going to make people ask the wrong sorts of questions."

"And we don't want people to ask the wrong sorts of questions?" Hermione guessed.

"No, we don't," Marcus agreed drily.

"The _pace nuptias_ means that they can't claim that we've forced you into a marriage that you didn't want," Adrian said. He ran a hand through his hair. "But we need more than that. We need to make the Ministry look idiotic if they try to question our relationship."

"So you need to be seen in public flirting with me?" Hermione asked with a small frown. "Preferably public venues where the papers can get lots of photos?"

Adrian and Marcus both grimaced at that.

"We didn't count on how much cachet the three of us have together," Marcus muttered. "The Quidditch rags, the _Prophet_ , _Witch Weekly_ —they're all going to go mad."

"We might need to adjust our plan," Adrian suggested. "Maybe take you to some places where you can be seen, but they don't allow photographers."

"The Quidditch pre-season is starting soon," Marcus said. "We could each escort her to the other's exhibition matches."

"We could," Adrian agreed. "But we might need something sooner. Maybe we could take her to a performance? What is playing at the London wizarding ballet?"

"Paris," Marcus countered with a shake of his head. "If we took her to the Paris wizarding ballet… that would be seen as a romantic gesture. See if you can get reservations at Le Meurice."

"That might work," Adrian agreed.

"Wait… when do you want to do all of that?" Hermione protested. "What about work?"

"We'll schedule it for a Saturday," Marcus told her with a shrug.

"But," Hermione tried again.

"Hermione," Adrian sighed. He knelt in front of her chair and took one of her hands. "Maybe we should talk."

"About what?" Hermione winced at how high her voice went.

Every time they had mentioned heirs or modes of begetting them, Marcus and Adrian had said _later_. There had been a certain level of safety in that.

Wizarding marriages—especially bondings on the level of a _pace nuptias_ —were permanent, any idiot knew that. She also knew that at some point they would have to talk about… about _heirs_ , but she had rather hoped that might happen sometime… _later_.

"Sex," Marcus said in his blunt way. Adrian glared at him and Marcus shrugged. "Tiptoeing around the subject is only going to make her more nervous, Ade. She's a Gryffindor."

"Right," Adrian muttered to himself. He looked up at Hermione and gave her a hesitant smile. "Sex."

Hermione squeaked.

"We aren't going to force you into anything you don't want," Marcus informed her with a small frown. He held up his wrist and waved his bracelet at her. "That would be stupid."

"I didn't think that you would," Hermione huffed at him. "I just… I don't really know either of you."

"And after you get to know us?" Marcus prompted her with a sly smirk. A dark flush stained Hermione's cheeks and she squirmed in her chair.

"That would be different," Hermione admitted.

"We wouldn't be opposed to it," Adrian said after a moment. He tightened his fingers on hers. "We did choose you, after all."

"You did," Hermione agreed. Her brow furrowed and she frowned at Adrian before turning to look at Marcus. "Why did the both of you choose me? I mean… are we the only triad?"

"Ade and I are a package deal," Marcus said.

That was hardly a satisfying answer. She turned back to Adrian. He smirked at her and waggled his eyebrows in a ridiculous display. When she continued to stare at him with a perplexed frown he stopped.

"Really?" He demanded.

"What?" Hermione asked. She turned to Marcus who was eyeing her speculatively.

"Bloody Gryffindors," Adrian snarled softly.

"Hey!" Hermione protested.

Adrian released her fingers and stood up. He turned and stepped toward Marcus who was watching him with a slightly fond expression. Adrian grabbed the front of Marcus' robes and hauled him close. Hermione watched in surprise as Adrian proceeded to snog the daylights out of Marcus in front of her. Marcus' large hands splayed over Adrian's back and he pulled him even closer. Adrian made a low groaning sound that made Hermione's pulse flutter.

"Oh," she whispered.


	10. Explanations

_Ade and I are a package deal_. Hermione stared at her husbands in surprise. It should have been obvious. It wasn't as though Zabini had brought along another wizard to propose to Luna. No one had suggested that Goyle and Montague attempt to woo a witch together. She should have known… and yet she hadn't. She felt as though she had missed an important question on a quiz, and she _hated_ that feeling.

What kind of idiot didn't know that her husbands were mad for one another? Had there been some sort of sign? Hermione chewed absently on her lower lip as she tried to remember if Adrian and Marcus had engaged in any displays of public affection. Her marriage had only existed for a smattering of days, and most of that had been filled with planning and logistics and worrying that they'd missed or forgotten something.

"Huh," Marcus said.

Apparently, Hermione _had_ missed something. _So much for being the brightest witch of your age_ , whispered a catty mental voice that sounded suspiciously like Pansy's. Oh Merlin. Pansy was going to have a _field_ day with this. Hermione could see it all now—Pansy would pop over and inform Hermione what day of the week it was, that the sky was blue, etc. You know… in case Hermione hadn't _noticed_.

"That wasn't quite the response I was hoping to see," Adrian murmured.

"She looks upset," Marcus said. Hermione blinked and looked up at Adrian and Marcus.

They were still standing close to one another, and Adrian still had an arm slung around Marcus' waist. Both of them were watching her warily.

"Are you upset Hermione?" Adrian asked in a slow, careful voice as though he were afraid of spooking her.

"Yes, of course I am," Hermione huffed. She waved a hand at the two of them. "I didn't realize… how could I not realize?"

Both wizards grew very still.

"Is this a problem for you?" Adrian was using that stiff voice that Hermione was beginning to actively dislike. She glared at him.

"Don't be silly," she snapped. "I just feel like an idiot. I should have known, right?"

"We didn't shag in front of you," Marcus pointed out with a shrug.

Hermione rolled her eyes at that. "I'm usually more astute," she protested. Then she paused and frowned to herself. "Although maybe I'm not anymore. I didn't know about Neville either."

"We don't travel in the same circles," Adrian reminded her. "When it's Quidditch season I barely get to see Marcus. We're always off at practice or at games."

"I don't think Longbottom brought Theo around to any of your parties," Marcus added.

Hermione's scowl deepened. "I hate not knowing things," she muttered.

"We probably should have said something," Adrian said reluctantly. Marcus snorted at that.

"No, we shouldn't have done," Marcus countered. "She might have said no."

"If this is a problem for her," Adrian retorted.

"You know it isn't," Marcus reminded him. "She's said so herself, and Grace told you."

"That reminds me… how exactly do you know the witch who owns my favourite café?" Hermione demanded.

"My mother was a Fawley," Adrian explained. "Grace is my cousin."

"You had your cousin _spy_ on me?" Hermione shrieked indignantly. She jumped up from her chair and glared at both wizards. "That's… that's…"

"Really Slytherin of us?" Marcus suggested.

"She didn't spy on you." Adrian took a step away from Marcus and ran a hand through his hair. He started to pace the room while he spoke. "Slytherins… we plan, you know? We're careful and cautious. We weigh every option. That's what we do."

"She overheard us arguing about who might be a good option," Marcus added. He shrugged and gave Hermione a hesitant smile. "She suggested we ask you."

The idea that Adrian had taken his cousin's advice about who he should marry was surprising. Hermione wasn't sure that she would take _her_ cousin's advice about anything.

"You're close then?" Hermione asked.

"My mother and Grace's dad were very close. We usually spent part of every summer together and most holidays," Adrian admitted.

"And she suggested _me_?" Hermione still couldn't get over that part.

There had been a few times when the café was slow that Hermione had chatted with Miss Fawley, but usually she was venting about work. As far as Hermione knew she had never shared anything personal… certainly not anything that would make anyone assume that she was excellent wife material.

"Grace was in Slytherin, too," Marcus said with a shrug.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Hermione frowned up at Marcus.

"She's got her own network," Adrian explained with a sigh. "People that she trusts to give her good information."

"And they told her… what, exactly?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know. She just told me that we should consider you," Adrian replied.

"She was right," Marcus offered. "We hadn't even considered you."

"Why?" Hermione hadn't meant to ask the question. She also hadn't expected the stab of hurt caused by Marcus' innocent confession.

"You were Hermione Granger," Adrian added with a wry smile. "You were Harry Potter's best friend."

"Brightest witch of her age, a member of the Golden Trio, champion of the downtrodden," Marcus continued. Hermione blushed and looked away from them.

"You were untouchable," Adrian told her gently. "We were unfit to breathe your air."

"That's not true. Why would you think that? You're both pureblood wizards," Hermione replied with a frown. Both wizards snorted at that.

"Disgraced Death Eater scum, more like," Marcus countered.

"If the Ministry has their way," Adrian muttered.

"Which they won't," Hermione snapped.

Marcus grinned at her then and moved forward to tap the tip of her nose with one callused finger.

"That is why Grace was right," he rumbled at her.

"Okay." Hermione took a shaky breath and glanced between Adrian and Marcus. _Relax, Granger_. _You can do this_. "So… so what does this mean?"

"We chose you together, Hermione." Adrian moved closer so that he was standing on her other side. "We had to both agree completely, no reservations, or it wouldn't work."

"I can see that," Hermione murmured. And she could. If she were in love with another witch—Luna, or Merlin forbid, Pansy—she and that witch would have to agree on a wizard that they both liked. Someone that suited each of them.

"Can you, little witch?" Marcus asked in an unbelievably gentle voice.

"Yes." Hermione crossed her arms and stared at her feet for a moment. "You two have a solid relationship. That was obvious even when I thought it was more of a friendship thing. To try and bring somebody into that… that would be difficult under the best of circumstances, and Merlin knows that these aren't-"

Adrian put his finger over her lips. "Hermione."

"We're used to this," Marcus explained. He grimaced a little. "If the war hadn't happened… I'd be married to Diamantha Selwyn right now."

"Merlin, I'd have been married off to Flora MacMillan," Adrian groaned. He made a face at Hermione. "Am I an evil bastard if I tell you that there are times I'm _grateful_ to the Dark Lord for being an immortal ponce?"

"Who is Flora MacMillan?" Hermione asked.

"Imagine Umbridge slightly younger and slightly less fond of pink," Marcus told her. Hermione shuddered at that. "Exactly."

It was impossible to imagine that Marcus or Adrian would happily trot down the aisle with some witch when she knew that they cared for one another. Hermione worried her lip between her teeth again. Marcus' thumb brushed under her lip, his broom callouses dragging against her skin and the blunt nail just barely scraping against the flesh under her lip. She released her lip and stared up at him with wide eyes.

"Stop that," he told her with a frown.

"What?" Hermione frowned back at him. "Why?"

"It's a tell," Adrian explained.

"You're giving away too much, little witch," Marcus rumbled at her.

"How could you even _think_ about marrying someone else?" Hermione demanded.

"We didn't," Adrian informed her in a dry voice. "Our parents planned it out, and we were going to go along with it."

"But…," Hermione protested, upset on their behalf about a situation that never actually happened. She knew it was ridiculous, but she couldn't help the flare of protectiveness that swelled within her.

"We would have done our duty to our families, and then bought a little flat where we could meet up on weekends," Adrian said.

"It's more common than you'd think," Marcus added. "Although that's just with only sons. If there are multiple sons then usually they work something out within the family."

"Cousins, sometimes." Adrian took her hand again and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. When Hermione looked up at him he smiled at her. "Instead we were lucky enough to get you."

Hermione snorted at that. "Luck had nothing to do with it."

"You could have said no," Marcus reminded her.

"I could have," Hermione agreed slowly.

That wasn't exactly true, though, was it? Hermione knew that she had a compulsive need to help, to right wrongs, to fight injustice. Perhaps it didn't always work out as she supposed it would—the continuing ire of the House Elves of Hogwarts pointed to that clearly enough. Could she have turned down Adrian and Marcus? Hermione suspected that she could not have done so.

"Hermione?" Adrian was watching her with that wary expression again.

"I'm-"

"If you say that you are fine, I'm not going to be responsible for my actions," Adrian warned her. Hermione glared at him.

"This is an arranged marriage," Hermione reminded him. "I wasn't expecting protestations of your undying love after a week. I was hoping that… after a period of time… we might grow to… to like and respect one another."

"That is a very pureblood take on marriage," Marcus said.

"Your… your relationship doesn't really change any of that," Hermione explained, ignoring Marcus' comment for the moment.

"Doesn't it?" Adrian pressed.

"Why would it?" Hermione countered.

"You are a Muggleborn," Marcus reminded her. "A lot of our customs upset Muggleborn witches and wizards alike."

"I suppose some customs might be jarring," Hermione agreed reluctantly. She shrugged and gave them an artless smile. "I read a lot."

"What kind of books were you reading?" Adrian demanded.

"Oh… whatever happened to be lying about." Hermione waved a hand at the room in general.

The difference between dealing with Gryffindors and Slytherins was never more apparent than that moment. Harry, Ron, Ginny, and even Neville would have taken that statement at face value. They would have assumed that Hermione gleaned something from an article in _Witch Weekly_ or the _Daily Prophet_. She was frightening clever, after all. Adrian and Marcus were both eyeing her speculatively.

"Lying about _where_ ," Marcus asked.

"The library at Hogwarts, of course," Hermione offered hoping they would just accept that on face value.

"You mean the Restricted Section," Adrian guessed. Hermione's guilty flush gave her away.

"Where else?" Marcus pressed.

"One or two books of Dumbledore's mentioned marriage bonds in passing," Hermione murmured.

"Right," Adrian muttered. His gaze narrowed on her face and he just watched her fidget for a minute or two. "Where else?"

"The Black library at Grimmauld Place," Hermione blurted out.

"Well, well, well," Marcus said with a slow smirk. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you Hermione?" He turned to look at Adrian. "Remind me to send your cousin something nice."

"What?" Surprise flared through Hermione.

"A snake in lion's clothing." Adrian hummed to himself for a moment and nodded at Marcus. "Something _very_ nice."

"May I kiss you, little witch?" Marcus asked. Hermione's eyes jerked to his and her heart fluttered in her chest.

"What?" Her voice squeaked. Her gaze darted to Adrian and back to Marcus.

"You give us away each time Ade or I touch you in public," Marcus explained. "You need to get used to us—to stop flinching every time Ade kisses your cheek or I touch your arm."

"Is that okay with… with you?" Hermione whispered.

Adrian smiled at her. "If I had a problem with it, I never would have agreed to this arrangement in the first place."

"But…," Hermione protested weakly.

"He is my _consors_ and you are my wife," Adrian reminded her.

"Okay." Hermione turned back to Marcus. "Okay."

Marcus cradled her face in his palms. He leaned down and Hermione's lashes closed. Marcus' lips were surprisingly soft and smooth as he pressed them to Hermione's cheek. Hermione opened her eyes to watch Marcus pull back and then lean forward again to kiss her other cheek. She frowned up at him and he smirked back at her.

"Thank you." Marcus' thumbs brushed along her cheekbones.

"For what?" Hermione asked.

"For not flinching," Marcus explained.

"I was expecting it," Hermione pointed out. Marcus released her face and took a step back from her. "I just have to get used to…"

"Being married?" Adrian suggested.

There were any number of phrases that would have worked, but Adrian seemed to be taking Marcus' advice about being blunt. He was right. She was married. _They_ were married. At some point, she needed to get used to Adrian and Marcus touching her.

"Yes," Hermione agreed.

"We don't really have time for that," Adrian reminded her.

"I know," Hermione sighed. "I'm sorry that I'm pants at this."

"Being married?" Marcus shook his head at her. "You're doing fine, Hermione. It's only been a few days."

"If we didn't have the Ministry to worry about—we would give you all the time you needed," Adrian added.

"If we didn't have the Ministry to worry about she never would have married us in the first place," Marcus countered.

"That's a fair point," Adrian admitted. Then he smiled at Hermione. "It's my turn now, isn't it?"

"Your turn?" Hermione barely had time to ask the question before Adrian pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly.

A gentle kiss was pressed to her forehead and then she was released.

"I think we need to give you time to mull all of this over," Adrian said with a sigh.

"Time… right," Hermione murmured dazedly. They didn't really have time, but she needed time.

"Come along and we'll escort you to your room." Marcus offered his hand to her and Hermione took it automatically.

Over her head, Adrian and Marcus exchanged a smirk.


	11. On Display

_A/N: A big thank you to Auntie_L, who keeps me from embarrassing myself on a regular basis._

/\/\/\/\/\

 _Paris_

 _Saturday Evening_

Trading favours had been the easy part. Adrian had smiled and charmed his way into early reservations at Le Meurice so they could make the wizarding ballet on time afterward. The evening had been planned down to the last detail in order to give plenty of people (and media outlets) the chance to ogle them. Adrian had even scheduled a brief meeting with Pebble to make sure that Hermione's outfits would subtly match and complement Adrian's and Marcus' robes.

The hard part would be the evening itself. Spending hours on display with one fidgety, jumpy Gryffindor. _The_ Gryffindor. The Muggleborn best friend of Harry Potter. Hermione Granger. Every time Adrian saw the flash of metal on his wrist, he would pause for a moment and then he would remember: _I married Hermione Granger_.

A warm, callused hand cupped the back of his neck and soft lips brushed his temple.

"What are you thinking about?" Marcus asked.

"Our wife," Adrian sighed.

"Why? Is there a problem?" Marcus frowned at him.

"I don't know. That's the problem," Adrian muttered.

"She has adjusted to all of this better than most pureblood brides," Marcus pointed out. "At least she wanted to marry us."

"What she _wanted_ was to save us from the Ministry of Magic," Adrian reminded him. "Marrying us was the only way she could make that happen."

"She's attracted to us both. I don't see the problem, Ade." Marcus crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Adrian.

"She was attracted to us individually. What if she can't deal with us as a unit?" Adrian worried aloud.

Marcus snorted and shook his head. "Don't borrow trouble."

"It isn't borrowing trouble," Adrian protested. "I'm just… I'm trying to be prepared."

"She's a pragmatic little thing," Marcus countered. He shook his head. "It's a wonder she wasn't Sorted into Slytherin."

"You know why she wasn't Sorted into our House," Adrian retorted. He raised a hand when Marcus frowned and opened his mouth. "Even if she was a perfect pureblood princess, her habit of flinging herself headlong into danger with the sodding Boy-Who-Lived would negate any chance of her being a Slytherin."

"Even still," Marcus said. "Don't worry so much. Just smile at her and charm her like you did with me."

"I highly doubt that offering to suck her off in the Quidditch locker room showers is going to charm her," Adrian muttered. Marcus laughed at that and pulled Adrian in for a messy kiss.

"It charmed me," Marcus panted when he'd pulled away.

"Git," Adrian huffed fondly. He leaned forward and kissed Marcus gently on the lips.

The sound of a door opening made them break apart and turn. Their bride was standing in the doorway staring at them with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. One gloved hand had risen toward her throat and she looked as though she were going to bolt.

"I beg your pardon," she blurted out and then flushed even darker. "I… I didn't mean to intrude. Should I come back later? I can come back later. I'll just… I'll–" she turned around.

"Don't go," Marcus rumbled next to him.

From the moment that Grace had suggested Hermione, Adrian and Marcus had been interested. At Hogwarts they had known that she was pretty and clever, but the war had shown them that she was cunning, powerful, and determined. If Hermione had been anything else but what she was, there would have been duels in the streets over the right to court her. Instead, they had somehow convinced Hermione Granger to give them a chance. As long as they didn't cock it up.

"Stay," Adrian added.

Slowly, Hermione turned back to them. She hesitated in the doorway as though she were still planning on scarpering. Marcus strode across the room and extended his hand to her. It was difficult not to smirk when Hermione automatically placed her hand in Marcus' and let him lead her back to Adrian. She had no idea how much she gave away with every glance and every word.

When they reached Adrian, Marcus raised Hermione's hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips. They were close enough that Adrian could hear her breath catch and see her pupils dilate. Not one to let an opportunity go, Adrian took her other hand and pressed his lips to her fingertips in an echo of Marcus' actions. Her fingers twitched in his hand and Adrian rubbed his thumb over her knuckles.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

Hermione took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. "You aren't talking about the ballet, are you?" She asked after a moment.

Adrian grinned at her then—he couldn't help himself. "And if I was?"

"I'm ready," she replied with a steely resolve that Adrian found himself envying.

"Take your time," Adrian suggested. He glanced at Marcus who was watching them both with shuttered eyes. "We'll play our parts for the cameras and the media, but here—in our home—you will have the freedom to make your own decisions."

"Thank you," Hermione whispered. Her fingers tightened on his. "That means a lot to me."

/\/\/\/\/\

Marcus hadn't lied to Hermione; a pub really was more his style. Le Meurice was what it was—a snooty, posh restaurant that most people frequented to be seen. Adrian had forced him to eat here once or twice, but only when they needed to do so. Marcus would rather be almost anywhere else, but that didn't mean he was complete oaf. He knew how to behave. His mum had been a right termagant about table manners. Carefully, Marcus pulled out Hermione's chair, and Adrian helped her into it.

"My menu doesn't have any prices," Hermione said after flipping through her menu several times with a frown.

"Le Meurice is a little old-fashioned," Adrian murmured to her.

"A _little_ old-fashioned?" Hermione scoffed.

"It's also very popular with the Parisian wizarding media," Adrian added with a bright, toothy smile that was directed more at the room than at Hermione.

"Trade me," Hermione demanded, turning to Marcus and holding out her menu.

Figuring that it was best to keep their Gryffindor calm, Marcus took her menu and handed her his. He flipped through his menu in a perfunctory manner, and then set it on the table. Adrian quirked a golden brow at him.

"You already know what you want?" He asked warily.

Marcus shrugged. "The same thing I always want."

Adrian frowned at him. "Marcus, we've talked about this," he hissed across the table. "You can _not_ ask the chef of Le Meurice to make you a shepherd's pie."

"Why not?" Marcus huffed. They were interrupted by a muffled giggle. Marcus turned to look at Hermione. "What's so funny?"

"It's just… it's nice to see you two like this," Hermione said with a wide smile.

"Like what?" Marcus asked.

"Relaxed," Hermione explained. "You always seem to be so guarded."

"With good reason," Marcus told her. He leaned toward her, invading her space and creating an impression of intimacy. "They're always watching. It's best to be on your guard."

"They?" Hermione asked with a little frown.

"Other wizards and witches, reporters, photographers," Marcus murmured. He tucked a stray curl behind her ear and her breath caught in her throat. He grinned and leaned down to her ear. "Don't pay any attention to them, just focus on me and Ade."

"Right," she muttered. "I can do that."

"I know you can, Hermione," he breathed near her ear. Hermione flushed and squirmed in her seat.

Adrian kicked him under the table, and Marcus sat up slowly. One of Adrian's eyebrows rose in question. _What are you doing?_ Marcus frowned at Adrian. _Flirting with our wife—like I'm supposed to do._ Adrian's lips pressed together in a tight line. _Don't scare her_. Marcus snorted at that.

"That, on the other hand, is annoying," Hermione huffed at them.

"What was that?" Adrian turned to her and tilted his head 'just so' with an inviting smile.

Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus saw a flashbulb go off. _Good_. At least tonight would work in their favour. Hermione waved a hand at them.

"The way that the two of you can have whole conversations that are completely silent. It's disturbing," Hermione explained.

With a light, social laugh, Adrian picked up Hermione's hand and kissed her palm.

"It's a tool, darling," Adrian replied brightly. "It allows us to communicate even when it isn't wise to speak."

Their wife grew still and her face became shuttered and slightly distant. Marcus wondered if she was remembering the war. Worried, he reached out and touched her hand. She blinked and then turned to him and smiled gratefully.

"That would be very useful," Hermione conceded.

"Is there anything on the menu that appeals to you?" Adrian prompted her.

"The langoustines," Hermione said after a moment.

"They're rather good," Adrian observed. "Marcus?"

Marcus sighed and picked up his menu again. "The lamb."

At that moment, the server appeared at their table. Marcus watched Adrian rattle off their order and the wine to go with it all. Hermione was listening carefully and her brow furrowed as she concentrated.

During dinner, Adrian performed like a professional—he was charming and witty and he flirted skillfully. Hermione did her best to play along with him, but Marcus could see that it made her uncomfortable. Every time Hermione grew stilted or awkward, either Marcus or Adrian would touch her hand gently. She would give them a strained smile and carry on. Marcus sighed mentally, and prepared himself for a long, long night.

/\/\/\/\/\

Thank Merlin for the wizarding ballet.

All night long, Hermione had grown more and more uncomfortable with Adrian's gentle flirting—he had kept dialing it down more and more, until he was flirting with her about as much as he would with Marcus' grandmother. It was the sort of polite social conversation that Adrian engaged in with near strangers at a function. Even that seemed to make Hermione's cheeks flush and her movements stilted.

Once they reached the Palais Garnier and were ushered into the wizarding section, everything changed. Hermione's eyes had lit up and she had become excited and animated. Several times she had touched Adrian's arm or Marcus' shoulder to get their attention and ask a question. She had sparkled. She had been effervescent. Both Adrian and Marcus had silently sighed in relief.

"This is fascinating," Hermione whispered as she leaned forward in her seat. She turned to grin up at him. "Is the wizarding opera similar?"

"They use a _Sonorous_ charm," Adrian said. "And they're able to use magic for all of the special effects. Is that what you meant?"

"Yes." Hermione clutched at his arm as one of the dancers performed a particularly intricate move. "It's marvelous. Perhaps if my ballet class had been like this, I would have done better."

"You took ballet?" Adrian asked unable to hide his surprise.

It was common for pureblood children to take dance classes, music lessons, and foreign languages before they entered Hogwarts, but very few took ballet. Hermione wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

"Not exactly. My parents felt it would give me a bit of polish, but all I ever really did was try the dancing master's patience," Hermione whispered back to him. "The piano lessons turned out to be much safer for everyone involved."

"You play the piano?" Adrian asked in a soft whisper. Hermione nodded and then directed her attention back to the ballet.

A relaxed Hermione was a much more photogenic Hermione. Some enterprising society photographer who was stalking the ballet for a French wizarding publication took several pictures of Hermione enjoying the ballet animatedly. He got quite a good picture of Hermione clutching at Marcus' arm during an intense scene. The photographer caught Marcus smiling down at her with a fond expression. Even better was that the story and its accompanying pictures were picked up by publications across Europe and reprinted.

/\/\/\/\/\

"Mistress was doing very well last night," Pebble said approvingly the next day.

Slowly, Hermione sat up and peered blearily at Pebble. "Did I? It felt as though I were doing everything wrong."

"Mistress and the young Masters were being on the front pages of many publications," Pebble informed her smugly. "Mistress' marriage is being the talk of wizarding Britain."

"How do you know that?" Hermione asked.

"Pebble be having her ways," Pebble replied in a blasé manner.

"Do you have House Elves who spy for you?" Hermione stared at Pebble in fascination. Was there such a thing as a _Slytherin_ House Elf?

Pebble snorted and shook her head at Hermione. "House Elves can be having friends just like wizards and witches," Pebble informed her haughtily.

"Of course they can," Hermione agreed.

"Mistress is needing to get dressed," Pebble commanded.

"What's supposed to happen today?" Hermione asked in confusion. She didn't remember having any set plans. In fact, she had been hoping that Pebble might let her sleep in… obviously that had been in vain.

Pebble scoffed and gestured impatiently. As Hermione crawled out of her giant bed, Pebble lectured her on the evils of being a sluggard.

"I am not a sluggard," Hermione protested indignantly.

Pebble looked at the large canopy bed and then looked back at Hermione who just sighed and slid off the side of the bed to the ground. _No wonder no one ever wanted to join SPEW_. The other students had most likely been afraid that their House Elves would find out and spend the rest of their very long lives making those students regret their actions.

"Mistress may be thinking that Pebble is having nothing better to be doing, but Mistress would be wrong," Pebble huffed.

The _as usual_ hung in the air between them. Hermione grabbed the robes already laid out and stalked off to the bathroom.

Once Pebble had gotten her way, _as usual_ , Hermione made her way to the small dining room where she'd had breakfast for the entirety of her marriage: almost a week. Adrian and Marcus were already sitting in their respective seats. Marcus was flipping through a newspaper and Adrian was frowning at a pile of correspondence.

"What happened?" Hermione asked worriedly.

As though some sort of string had been pulled, Marcus and Adrian sprang to their feet and hurried over to her. Marcus reached her first and leant forward to kiss her cheek.

"Morning," he murmured as he pulled away. "Sleep well?" 

"I think it's impossible to do anything _but_ sleep well in that bed," Hermione assured him with a hesitant smile. Behind her, Adrian had a sudden coughing fit. Hermione turned to him with a worried frown. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, thank you," Adrian gasped. He waved Marcus off and gave Hermione a half-smile, which Hermione found herself returning automatically. He bent down and kissed her other cheek. "I'm glad you're awake. You can help me sort through the mail we've received."

"What mail?" Anxiety flooded Hermione as she had a sudden vision of Fourth Year repeating itself.

Marcus peered at her face. "Why does mail upset you?" He frowned at Adrian and then turned back to you. "What happened?"

"My fourth year," Hermione whispered. "The Yule Ball and those horrid _Daily Prophet_ articles by Rita Skeeter… people sent me… it was awful."

Adrian and Marcus exchanged furiously angry glances and then turned back to Hermione.

"You won't have to worry about that sort of thing with us," Adrian promised. "The Flint wards refuse letters with ill intent. Anything cursed or jinxed won't even make it in the Manor."

"What about bubotuber pus?" Hermione asked with a fearful glance at the table.

"Bubotuber pus?" Marcus repeated with a dark scowl. "You were fourteen years old!"

"Fifteen," Hermione corrected him absently, her focus still on the pile of letters next to Adrian's seat. "My birthday is in September."

"Fucking wankers," Marcus growled. "Pebble!"

With a loud crack Pebble appeared in the room.

"Master Marcus is calling Pebble?" The House Elf asked with a sweetness that was distinctly absent in the House Elf's dealings with Hermione.

"Can you make sure there is nothing in the mail that would hurt anyone? Not a curse or a spell, but something that could harm the person opening it like acid or poison or something like that?" Marcus asked.

"Of course, Master Marcus," Pebble replied. She snapped her fingers and a substantial pile floated into the air, glowing a dull red.

"Can you hold them for a moment, Pebble?" Adrian asked.

"What on earth for, Ade?" Marcus asked.

"I need to record all the names," Adrian growled. Marcus grunted his agreement.

Carefully, Hermione edged around the table keeping her distance from the floating pile of hate mail. As Adrian took names, Marcus followed after her closely and pulled out a chair for her. Once she was seated, he touched her shoulder with gentle fingers.

"We won't let anything happen to you," Marcus told her.

"You can't make those kinds of promises," Hermione protested, but Marcus was already shaking his head. He lifted his wrist, showing his bracelet.

"Our fates are bound together," Marcus reminded her. "Our lives are tied to yours. We aren't going to let anyone do anything to fuck that up."

There was really nothing Hermione could say to that—it wasn't as though she was going to let anyone do anything to harm Adrian or Marcus, so she just nodded. She turned to Adrian and Pebble who were destroying the tainted letters with grim pleasure.

"There," Adrian said with an air of finality. "Now let's look at the rest of these." He sorted through the remaining letters before looking up at Hermione. "You still correspond with Krum?"

"Viktor wrote to me?" Hermione asked with surprised pleasure. Adrian scowled at her.

"Is there a Quidditch player you _haven't_ dated?" He demanded.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "I dated Ron very briefly and I went to one dance with Viktor when I was fifteen. It's not as though I was dating my way through _Quidditch through the Ages_ ," she retorted.

"And you married us," Marcus reminded her.

"Well, yes," Hermione agreed. "What did Viktor have to say?"

"I didn't open it as it wasn't addressed to me," Adrian replied stiffly. He passed the letter across the table.

 _My dear Hermione,_

 _I hope that this letter finds you well. Let me be one of the first to tender congratulations upon your marriage to Adrian Pucey and Marcus Flint. I am aware of their unpleasant history in your country, but I will tell you that I have played each wizard on the Quidditch pitch, and each acted with all honour. I am not surprised at all that they chose the pace nuptias—it bears out the integrity with which they play our shared sport._

 _Good luck Mila!_

 _Your friend,_

 _Viktor_

A soft smile spread across Hermione's face as she read Viktor's letter. He was such a good friend. She looked up to see both Adrian and Marcus watching her with blank expressions.

"Well?" Marcus asked in a gruff voice.

"He thinks you are both honourable wizards and he wished us good luck," Hermione told them as she folded the letter and replaced it in its envelope. She held it out toward them. "Do you need to read it?"

"Of course not," Adrian scoffed. He played with his spoon for a moment. "But if you'd like us to–?"

Marcus snatched it out of Hermione's hand. His brow furrowed as he read it and then he handed it over to Adrian.

"He seems… nice," Adrian muttered.

"He is," Hermione agreed. She ignored the look that her husbands shared over her head and began to butter her toast.


	12. Pansy is NOT amused

_A/N: I forgot to slap this on. Oops. Firstly, you can thank the lovely ladies of the DEE and their many rat races. I wasn't sure about doing them at first, but they really do help. Secondly, Auntie_L is amazing and lovely and wonderful. She puts up with all of my crap and hasn't tried to throttle me through the interwebz yet._

* * *

In the short life of Hermione's marriage, Adrian had appeared to be a self-possessed wizard. He had charmed and flirted his way into Hermione's apartment and into her life. Adrian had never appeared to be anything other than confident.

Watching Adrian fidget and wriggle about in his seat was an odd sight, and it bothered Hermione. She frowned at Adrian's antics and then turned to Marcus with a raised brow.

"What is he trying to avoid telling me?" Hermione asked Marcus.

"The Malfoys sent us a congratulatory note," Marcus rumbled without meeting her eyes.

"And?" There had to be more. Hermione was certain that Adrian wasn't discomfited because the Malfoys had recognized their marriage. Wasn't the whole point of this whole thing to have their marriage recognized as legitimate?

"They've invited us to dinner," Adrian admitted. He looked at a point above Hermione's shoulder. "Tonight."

"Where?" Hermione asked faintly.

While she had learned to tolerate Daphne, and by extension Astoria, for Ginny's sake, the very last thing she wanted to do was slog through another painfully public dinner where she was on display for the entire wizarding public to gawk at.

Unlike Harry, who was—for the most part—adored by wizarding Britain, Hermione didn't have the status of "Chosen One" to fall back on. From the time she was an insecure teenager to now, rags like the _Daily Prophet_ had seemed to positively gloat over every imagined shortcoming in excruciating detail.

No matter what Hermione did, no matter how hard she worked to prove – or improve – herself, it never seemed to be enough for the wizarding media. On occasion, Hermione marveled over the fact that she hadn't become a recluse.

"Malfoy's been living in one of their French properties," Marcus replied.

"Some apartment in Paris," Adrian added.

"So we're going back to Paris," Hermione said slowly.

An apartment in Paris would presumably not have paparazzi dangling over the balcony. Was Adrian bothered by that? Surely not, as both Adrian and Marcus had presumably been invited to the younger Malfoy's apartment before now.

What was she missing? Did Adrian assume that she wouldn't want to Floo internationally two days in a row? Perhaps he didn't realize that her job at the Ministry often required Flooing and Portkeying internationally on a regular basis? Once she'd had a case with illegal poachers that had had her Flooing back and forth for a month straight.

"You're willing to go?" Adrian asked with a hesitant air that made Hermione frown in confusion.

"Astoria or Narcissa is going to have to sit on the Wizengamot," Hermione reminded them. "If we're going to accomplish what we planned, I'm going to have to sit down with them at some point. To be perfectly honest, I would much rather meet with Astoria than Narcissa Malfoy."

Marcus snorted. "Don't underestimate Astoria because she's younger," he warned her.

"I won't," Hermione promised.

"If you… if we are able to… you'll have to deal with Narcissa Malfoy at some point," Adrian cautioned.

"I know," Hermione said. She frowned at Adrian. "What are you concerned about, exactly?"

"You were tortured at Malfoy Manor," Marcus said bluntly. Hermione flinched and Adrian's and Marcus' faces went blank.

"Would you rather not discuss it?" Adrian asked.

"It's–," Hermione began only for both wizards to glare at her.

"You being tortured is not fucking _fine_ ," Marcus snarled.

"Are you telling me that you didn't torture anyone?" Hermione demanded indignantly.

"No, I can't," Adrian muttered. He scowled at his plate and then he looked up at her with a stormy expression. "But none of them were…"

"We mostly dealt with people at the Ministry," Marcus explained in a subdued voice. He stared at his lap and avoided eye contact with both Hermione and Adrian. "It was… adults. Not…"

"You," Adrian finished with a huff. "It wasn't you, alright?" He threw his napkin on the table and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "I know it's been less than a week, but you're _ours_ , damn it. We're responsible for your health and safety. We'll probably never be happy about having any of the Malfoys anywhere near you."

Hermione sat for a moment in stunned silence.

The idea that these two Death Eaters were morally outraged on her behalf was incredible. Both Marcus and Adrian had just admitted to torturing, and most likely killing, other people. Admittedly, it had apparently been people at the Ministry; during the War they had been collaborators with Voldemort at best and enthusiastic participants at worst.

"You do remember that Daphne Greengrass is dating Ginny Weasley, do you not?" Hermione looked from Marcus to Adrian and back again. "I've gone out on girls' nights with Astoria Malfoy. We've had tea together. I expect that—when and if Daphne and Ginny decide they want some kind of bonding ceremony—that Astoria and I will be in charge of their joint Hen Night."

Adrian flushed and looked away.

"Maybe so," Marcus grunted. He rubbed one hand over his jaw. "It's still unsettling to think that you… that Malfoy…"

"He didn't." Hermione found herself in the odd position of defending Draco Malfoy. "He couldn't even watch."

"You don't blame him?" Adrian asked with a frown.

Hermione shrugged. "I'm not saying we're bosom friends, or anything. It isn't as though we gossip over drinks, and I've certainly never been invited to their home before." She sighed and rubbed at her forehead. "We've all… done things we aren't proud of… things we regret. None of us is untarnished in some way."

"But… you're Hermione Granger," Marcus protested.

Hermione squinted at him and huffed. "I'm hardly innocent."

Marcus put his forearms on the table and leaned toward her. There was a cough and a mutter from Adrian's seat that sounded like "Edgecombe," which Hermione chose to ignore, but which made Marcus sit back up.

"So that would be a yes to dinner with the Malfoys tonight?" Adrian asked politely.

"Yes," Hermione agreed. She frowned at the pile of letters on the table. "Was there anything else?"

"We should probably schedule a meeting with, erm, everyone else," Adrian suggested.

"Luna calls us the Death Eater brides," Hermione offered with a smirk. Adrian rolled his eyes at that and Marcus snorted.

"Charming," Adrian muttered.

"We need to make sure that all of the wives are willing to sit on the Wizengamot," Marcus said.

"And that they're willing to stop the Ministry," Hermione added.

"We'll pull out our schedules later and look them over," Adrian said. He pushed his eggs around with his fork. "Quidditch will be starting up soon and Marcus and I won't even be available then."

"You had mentioned that." Hermione shifted in her chair. "You also said something about taking me to exhibition matches?"

"It's before the actual season," Marcus explained. "We don't usually play each other, so we'll each be able to escort you to the other's match."

"When do they take place?" Hermione asked with a worried frown. "I can't miss too much work."

"Usually they're on the weekend, so hopefully they won't go too long," Marcus explained. He leaned back in his chair. "If they stretch out over days, you can go to work when you're scheduled. As long as you pop in for a few minutes here and there, no one will say anything."

"There are some spouses who never come to the games," Adrian said. "Unfortunately, we're trying to convince everyone that our marriage has a solid foundation, so you'll need to come to ours."

"I would come to your games regardless," Hermione protested. "You're my husbands."

"You probably won't be able to attend all of them," Marcus warned her. "While Ade and I don't usually play each other, we often play on the same days. Or the matches will overlap. As long as you manage to make some of them, no one will be any the wiser."

"I can do that," Hermione replied.

"We'll try to make it up to you the rest of the year," Adrian added. "The ballet, the opera, whatever you want."

"You don't have to do that," Hermione protested.

"We're basically going to abandon you for the entire season," Adrian pointed out.

"That's fine, I can go by myself," Hermione said with a shrug.

Both Adrian and Marcus looked at one another and then turned to Hermione.

"You can't attend public events without an escort," Marcus told her.

Hermione scowled at the two of them. "What do you mean, I _can't_ attend events without an escort? I've been doing it for years!"

"In Muggle London, or in the wizarding world?" Adrian asked shrewdly.

Hermione huffed and grumbled and finally threw up her hands. "Muggle London," she admitted.

"You're the Lady Granger," Marcus reminded her. "You can't just wander around by yourself."

"Why the hell not?" Hermione demanded.

"Why didn't you go about unescorted when you were single?" Adrian asked in a quiet voice.

"After the war, I… I assumed that things would be different," Hermione muttered. Her shoulders hunched and she ducked her head. "We _won_."

"What happened?" Adrian prompted her in a gentle voice.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," Hermione muttered. She took a deep breath and let it out before she looked up and met Adrian's and Marcus' gazes. "Nothing that hadn't already happened at Hogwarts."

Both wizards winced.

"Hermione." Marcus' voice was a soft rumble.

"It was… nothing over the top," Hermione rushed to explain. "I was shoved once or twice. A few people muttered things under their breath. It was never anything that I could point to and complain to anyone about, but it was just enough to make me wary about going out without support."

A low growl came from Marcus and Adrian automatically put his hand on Marcus' knee, his tanned fingers flexing. Hermione could feel her face heat up and she tried to focus on Adrian who cleared his throat.

"Did anyone threaten you?" He asked.

"Not directly," Hermione hedged.

"Indirectly?" Marcus guessed.

"

"It takes time for things to change," Adrian offered quietly. "You being on the Wizengamot will help make those changes happen faster."

"We'll do whatever we can to help," Marcus added.

"I know," Hermione muttered.

"You are an amazing witch," Adrian said. He grinned at Hermione when she looked up at him in surprise. "What? Everyone knows it's true. You are the brightest witch of our age."

"And?" Hermione prompted him with a raised eyebrow.

"You may have to use the system against itself," Marcus explained. He smirked at her. "And you, Lady Granger, are part of that system."

"Ugh." Hermione threw her napkin on the table, leaned back in her chair, and put her hands over her face.

"You knew this wasn't going to be easy," Adrian reminded her.

"I know." Hermione's reply was slightly muffled through her hands. She removed them from her face and looked over at them. "I just thought that I would be… me. Not a member of a House. Not bound by all the stupid, ridiculous rules. Just me."

"You work with the tools you have," Marcus noted. "Don't spend your time worrying about the tools you wish you had."

Hermione smiled and shook her head. "I'll do my best."

"It will be enough," Marcus said. Hermione flushed.

"You have too much confidence in me," Hermione muttered.

"Perhaps it's just enough," Adrian countered. "You have an impressive track record, Hermione. We merely believe that you will continue on as you have done."

"Thank you all the same." Hermione looked from one to the other. "It's… it's nice."

/\/\/\/\/\

"What did you do?" Pansy demanded.

"I ordered an orange squash," Hermione replied with a confused frown. "Is that not the done thing? What ought I to have ordered? Gillywater? Elderflower cordial?"

"Don't be a bitch, that's my job," Pansy retorted.

"I believe Pansy is referring to your husbands," Luna observed with a slight smile for the waiter. "They gave Blaise a huge lecture about how you were not to be left alone during Quidditch season. They told him that if anything happened to you while they were gone, they would take a page out of _your_ book, whatever that means."

"A bottle of champagne," Pansy ordered.

"And a lemonade," Luna added.

"Peasants," Pansy sneered at them from across the table.

"What's got your knickers in a twist?" Hermione demanded.

"Marcus threatened Harry," Pansy hissed once the waiter had left. She took a brief glance around the Muggle café before turning back to Hermione with a glare. "Where the hell does he get off?"

"Why on earth would Marcus threaten Harry?" Hermione asked in surprise. She frowned at Pansy. "What did Harry do?"

"What did _Harry_ do?" Pansy repeated. She rolled her eyes and turned to glare at Luna. "Is she serious?"

Luna turned to look at Hermione. She tilted her head to one side, her dirty blonde hair spilling in a tangled waterfall of curls over her shoulder. Luna twisted her humongous radish ring around her finger several times before she turned to Pansy and spoke.

"Hermione is always serious. It is both her greatest strength and her greatest weakness," Luna said at last.

Hermione flushed. "Thank you, Luna," she muttered.

"Harry didn't _do_ anything," Pansy snapped. " _Your_ husbands marched into the Auror office and insisted that he use his influence to assign an Auror to watch over you during the Quidditch season."

"Why would that bother you?" Hermione asked. She paused and frowned at the both of them. "I mean, I know why it bothers _me_ , and Marcus and Adrian and I will be sitting down for a nice long chat about why it isn't okay for them to treat me like a child—"

"Yes, yes, you're a thoroughly modern witch," Pansy interrupted her rudely. "We're all very proud of you. What bothers me, _darling_ , is that your wayward husbands threatened Harry."

"And only _you_ are allowed to threaten Harry?" Hermione asked with an arched eyebrow.

Pansy sighed heavily and turned to Luna again. "There are times that I feel that someone in Slytherin should have stepped forward during your years at Hogwarts. That _this_ ," and here she gestured at Hermione, "was all that you had hurts my very soul."

Luna smiled brightly at Pansy and patted her on the hand. "To each season a different harvest."

"I suppose," Pansy muttered casting a critical eye in Hermione's direction.

"Obviously I'm not thrilled that Adrian and Marcus tried to threaten Harry," Hermione offered.

"They didn't _try_ to do anything," Pansy retorted. "They threatened him."

"Is this what Harry told you, or did you witness it yourself?" Hermione countered.

Pansy frowned at that and glared at the surrounding restaurant.

"You know that I adore Harry," Hermione continued. "I'm not going to let _anyone_ hurt him. _Ever_."

"It's possible that Marcus and Adrian didn't take that into account," Luna suggested.

The three witches paused and smiled polite smiles at the server who chose that moment to arrive with their drinks. Pansy insisted that he go and grab two more glasses, and then when he returned, that he pour out three glasses of champagne. Hermione defiantly drank her orange squash and reveled in her peasant status.

"You are going to speak to them." Pansy took a sip of her champagne.

"Of course I am," Hermione said with a roll of her eyes.

"It is an old custom, when a wizard went on a quest or a long journey, to ask others to look in on his family and make sure that they were safe," Luna observed. "To be asked was considered to be a great honour."

"No one has done anything like that for centuries," Pansy scoffed. "That's practically out of the tales of Merlin."

Luna shrugged. "The protocols for the _pace nuptias_ haven't been used in centuries either."

"There are protocols for the _pace nuptias_?" Curiosity and excitement shone in Hermione's eyes.

"It was used to unify feuding nations," Pansy reminded her with a roll of her eyes. " _Of course_ there are protocols." She paused and smirked at Hermione. "Lady Granger."

Hermione threw her napkin at Pansy. "Oh, shut up."


End file.
